


Carnivore Court

by Danmujiji



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Animal Metaphors, Blood and Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, War, Worldbuilding, fruit is important, here i go again with my long plots, kuroken ushioi wont die but others will, suffering is a given
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24982600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danmujiji/pseuds/Danmujiji
Summary: When Kozume Kenma attended an imperial assembly, he did not expect to become a new minister. Likewise, when Kuroo Tetsurou intervened with an ambush, he did not expect to become a general. Neither of them expected to be anything more than fellow acquaintances.As a peasant, Kuroo’s presence brings unwanted attention from the all-noble court, but gratitude isn’t the only reason why Emperor Oikawa recruited him. Soon enough, Kenma is forced from his detached way of life and thrust into a deadly game of political strategy where he has to survive schemes, conspiracies, all while attempting to keep his feelings for his new general at bay.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 36
Kudos: 126





	1. Dear Minister

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This work will handle sensitive topics and provide some graphic descriptions later in the story. For those who still want to enjoy without having to read those parts, I will indicate the beginning and end of the scenes with three asterisks (***) so readers can use Ctrl+F to skip those parts. 
> 
> More disclaimers and other warnings in the End Notes.

Kenma didn’t want to be here. 

An imperial assembly was reserved only for the most high-ranking officers of the court. Nobility like clan leaders, who dressed in silks so brightly dyed and patterned that the sight of them all in a row was stark against the golden byobu screens. It was nauseating. Before them, the House Ministers sat, white porcelain masks staring at him with varying degrees of interest, still like statues. Beside the Ministers sat their Generals, whose faces were covered by their iron muzzles, murmuring amongst themselves as to why he was there, or why any of them were. Kenma couldn’t tell which one was worse: being unable to tell if the ministers were sneering or leering under their masks, or being subject to the intense focus of the generals’ eyes. He didn’t know why he was summoned either, so suddenly and without warning. His stomach twisted. 

He gripped his fists tightly, asking himself over and over if they had found inconsistencies with his paperwork and was set for corporal punishment. Surrounded by the most powerful people in the empire, he waited and waited, petrified, for the Emperor to speak and announce which noble he had wronged or what territory he had affected. It had been over five minutes since he had knelt there, and any longer now he’d break the skin beneath his nails. His heartbeat pulsed throughout his whole body and he worried if he appeared to be shaking. 

If anything was more dangerous than a mistake, it was the appearance of weakness. 

“Kozume Kenma.” 

The Emperor’s voice was light and clear as a bell, halting all the noise and murmuring within the hall. It echoed throughout the imperial hall as if carried by a gust of wind. 

“Your majesty,” his voice barely came out. He bowed quickly, his long black hair shielding his face, and he could feel the Emperor’s gaze weigh heavily on his head. The pressure it exuded was so immense that it felt as if a massive hand was gripping the back of Kenma’s head to keep it pressed to the floor. The fine tatami pattern seemed to blur as he tried to keep himself from thinking about every possibility for error. 

“Raise your head.” 

Just like that, the hand was lifted and Kenma raised his head to a platform so grandly engraved and built so high that he had to crane his neck to look properly. Gold tipped the ornaments depicting the imperial beasts of the Carnivore Court. The lesser animals were carved so small they resembled tokens more than anything but as he looked further up, they grew in size. The largest three were the foxes sitting below the spread wings of the eagles, who carried the snarling wolves. Sitting above all that grandeur was The Emperor himself: Oikawa Tooru of the Wolves. His face, rumored to be one of the most beautiful in the land, was obscured by draperies of translucent teal silks hanging from above. 

“I have invited you here today to announce your promotion as Minister of the Cats.” 

Kenma’s grip on his hands loosened, and he released his breath. But something didn’t quite feel right about this, and he couldn’t fully relax. 

“I’m sure you can figure out the implications of your promotion.” There, in the emperor’s words, Kenma experienced a sense of foreboding that clamped around his throat. Was Nekomata reassigned? Demoted? He found such possibilities improbable---ludicrous even, but nothing could prepare him for what he heard next. 

_“The Minister of the Cats, Nekomata Yasafumi is dead.”_

Kenma’s blood chilled, and his whole body froze, what little breath left in him suspended in his lungs. His gaze fell from the emperor and to the floor for a second before he sat up straight, his eyes boring a hole into the gaping jaws of the wolf. He had to focus or else. _Or else._ Not even in a moment like this could he show weakness in front of the court. 

“I see. That is most unfortunate.” Those words of passive acceptance left an acrid taste in his mouth. It was the best he could say. It was the best _anyone_ could say after being told they were going to replace the master they loved because he was dead.

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would!” TThe Emperor said with a tone of amusement that just rubbed Kenma the wrong way, like his reaction was somehow of greater relevance than a man’s death. “Don’t you have any questions? Any qualms about being minister? Why, if you like, we can have you reassigned---”

“How did he die, your majesty?” 

The suddenness of his voice, cutting off the emperor had shocked himself and all of the court as a hushed silence fell upon the room. And he could feel it, on his back, his head, his chest; all eyes were on him. Yet he stood firm despite the palpitations in his chest; despite the painful tear in his palm his nails would only stretch. 

The Emperor told him when they had been crossing the border between the territories of the Wolves and Eagles on their way back to the capital, he had met Nekomata and the minister suggested they switch carriages as a security measure. The assailants, having believed the imperial carriage contained the emperor inside, attacked and Nekomata was slain. Having heard this, Kenma dug his nails deeper into his palms, fury coiled at the back of his throat, refusing to back down like the hackles of a beast. It had only been a few days since The Emperor had returned from his trip to the northern provinces. Nekomata had been dead for over a week. 

The emotion that roiled in Kenma’s veins could not be extinguished by the Emperor praising Nekomata’s valiant sacrifice. Not his promotion. Not the brigade of soldiers, or the general of the Cats were being awarded for the old minister’s death. They were a formality rather than any real form of condolence, for how he saw all these rewards was the implication that after this assembly, things were expected to go back to normal. That he was to pick up immediately after his deceased predecessor and function within the court. 

“Tomorrow you will return here to meet your new general. Nekomata-san told me he’d be a very good fit for you.” Taking advantage of Kenma’s stunned silence, the emperor clapped his palms together. “Well then~! This meeting is adjourned! You’re all dismissed! Now shoo! Shoo~!” he announced with his usual, cheery (and quite frankly, grating) tone. It broke the tension so effectively Kenma didn’t have time to think about what he meant by the part of his statement: that Nekomata recommended this general for Kenma. All the ministers, generals, and nobles bowed their heads before rising simultaneously, praising the emperor’s glory like they were expected to, but the words barely left Kenma’s lips.

Noise returned to the imperial hall not too soon after; the news of Nekomata’s death quickly faded behind other matters of actual importance to the nobles. Lively murmurings and brief glances were directed at Kenma, and he couldn’t tell what they were saying because the masks muffled their voices. The emperor prepared to take his leave as well, descending from the platform with the imperial guard, Ushijima Wakatoshi, who followed three steps after him. The emperor walked with a cane, a slender one of sakura wood capped with the golden wolf head. While he was in rather high spirits, saying something about having gotten the assembly out of the way, Kenma was left with nothing but a hardened blackness in his heart, like a tree scorched by thunder. He walked briskly towards the exit, eager to return to his office, his head ducked low praying none of the other ministers---or anyone, really---would catch him. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” A loud voice boomed from behind Kenma, jolting him out of his skin. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Everyone could, when general Bokuto Koutarou was a man who seemed never to shut up. Fortunately, he was off talking to someone animatedly: the general of the Crows, Sawamura Daichi. Approaching Kenma was Minister Akaashi, who bowed politely at him, and returned the gesture. 

He was quite familiar with the Owls, Minister Akaashi especially, and ran no risk of punishment or a scolding if he misspoke or reverted to his aloof ways, but after the assembly he couldn’t find it in him to say even a single greeting or respond to minister Akaashi’s words.

“My sincere condolences.” Minister Akaashi said, his tone even and calm as usual. Something seized Kenma’s throat, but he swallowed hard and thanked minister Akaashi. Even when the porcelain mask obscured the minister’s face, Kenma knew he was being genuine. He excused himself afterwards, then departed the imperial palace. 

Fukunaga was waiting outside with the carriage ready. Kenma waved his hand indicating for them to return to their estate, and once he climbed in and Fukunaga shut the door, he rested his head against the walls, closed his eyes, and finally released his clenched fists. His fingers were sticky with dried blood and they trembled as Kenma released a labored sigh. What agony there was to feel had already passed him like water through a sieve. There was nothing but the dull throb of his palms to accompany him through the uneventful ride back. 

No sobs. No tears. Nothing. 

\--- 

That evening Kenma gathered all the personnel working under the Cats to the meeting hall in the estate. Knelt upon the tatami were small-time officials within the capital city. The Cats were in charge of imposing and maintaining the rules and regulations the imperial palace legislated. Civil law, taxes, military drafts, and everything else underneath the realm of civil administration, especially within the capital, which was a sprawling territory that was expanding every single day. Under his command as minister were the sons and daughters of merchants and scholars. Certainly not powerless, but nobody of noteworthy status compared to _real_ nobles. No threat. They were simply tools for the imperial court’s reign. 

Kenma announced what had happened during the imperial assembly. Once the shock that rippled through the personnel had subsided--- all the attendants, judges, officials under their employ crying out in grief--- they demanded to know what had happened to their previous minister. So Kenma told them, keeping his voice as calm as he could under duress of their rising emotion, that Nekomata died after taking an ambush meant for the emperor. For this, they were being awarded; an increase of monthly coffers, a brigade of a thousand men, and the Cats’ first general in decades. He didn’t hesitate to tell them the emperor expects the administration to run smoothly regardless of Nekomata’s death. They did not have the privilege of a break. They did not have the privilege of mourning. Above all else, they had to maintain the appearance of order, especially now under the new emperor’s scrutiny. 

Oikawa Tooru had only been in power for a few years. When the previous emperor died, the Wolves stormed the palace and snatched the crown from the Eagles, who were seen by most to be the next rulers of the emperor. Then, by way of certain technicalities---and this is the best way Kenma could put it without being charged with slander and treason---the Wolves unfurled their bright teal banners and called the imperial palace theirs. Perhaps as an insult, because as far as Kenma was concerned, the current emperor carried the capacity for such pettiness, he appointed Ushijima Wakatoshi as his imperial guard. Ushijima, the general of the Eagles and their bet for emperor. 

Unfortunately, the chaos of Oikawa’s unprecedented reign brought in an incredibly shaky rule as the clans clamored over one another to rally their support or disapproval pressuring their own Houses to act upon their wishes. A coup staged by numerous clans had almost started, and had it not been for the imperial army, another war would have begun. Fortunately things had stabilized for now---at least on the outside. Internally, much of the court was still a mess as the emperor passed laws all willy-nilly; laws that the Cats, or more appropriately _Kenma,_ had to deal with now. If his House faltered in any way, it would reflect badly upon the emperor’s rule. It would mean punishment for them, and potentially an invitation for other countries to invade, and Kenma would like to avoid war as much as possible. 

Before Kenma dismissed the officials, he asked them: “Is there anyone opposed to Nekomata-san’s decision of naming me as his successor?” As soon as he said those words, he expected noises of disapproval. Of people electing themselves for the position. He waited for a few moments, eyeing any slight movement from the rows of officials until it was clear to him their answer was unanimous. Relief did not come to him. For all he knew, their acceptance was only compliant to Nekomata’s dying wishes. For all he knew, someone would be working up a scheme against him to take the position for themselves once he was out of the picture. While the Cats were one of the weakest Houses, a minister was still a minister, and the position was more than anyone of ignoble birth could ever hope to achieve.

“I see. In the coming days I will make plans for the previous minister’s funeral, but in the meantime the administration shall resume business as usual. I suppose that’s all. Before you are dismissed, is there an issue anyone wishes to raise?” 

A number of people raised their hands. He selected one from the group and he spoke. 

“If I may be so bold, M-minister,”

Kenma’s eye twitched.

“But what of the new general and the brigade?”

Hums of agreement. 

“They are a gift from the emperor, so we can’t refuse. As for their purpose,” he paused to consider. The Cats were nothing but administrators of law, so arming them brought rather unpleasant implications. A thousand armed men to enact law created by nobles... He pushed the thought away. “I’ll see to it personally.” 

There were no more questions of note after that. Kenma dismissed the officials, and as he watched them all file out one by one, he only noticed now that he sat in his usual spot in the meeting hall. Beside him was Nekomata’s red _zabuton_ , faded and worn and unoccupied. Forever. 

Tonight was the last time he allowed himself to sit where he was. Tomorrow, he was officially taking Nekomata’s place. 

Kenma, alone, sighed into the empty room. He lowered his head and leaned forward, his head heavy as lead. Every second he felt as if his strength was slowly being sapped from his body. In his injured hands, he tightly gripped the corner of the red zabuton.

He left the meeting hall after a while. The halls were dark by then and he had only an _oki-andon_ lamp a servant had helpfully left out for him to light the way to his quarters. He stopped by Nekomata’s quarters and for a second the urge to slip inside was irresistible, the dark gap between the shoji screens beckoning him inside, but he drew back as if stung and forced himself to go past it. He doubted if sleep would come to him tonight, but he was certain it wouldn’t come to him in Nekomata’s room. 

Upon reaching his room, he set down the lantern in a corner and slid open one of the closet doors. He knelt before it and groped around until he found a gap between the tatami panels and lifted it up. Underneath was an iron panel, flat and almost blending against the floor, locked with an iron padlock. He fetched a keyring from within his sleeves and twisted the lock open. Inside lay a number of objects, important papers and certain personal effects. The most important of which lay inside another box: plain black and shiny with lacquer. The simple gold design shined in the lamplight and Kenma unlocked that box and opened it. 

Inside were a number of things. Among them: a sack containing gold; enough of it for a man to live off of for a year. A severed _obijime_ string, and a small bundle bound in paper. He took it out and unwrapped the bindings to reveal a token cast in the shape of a panther. The token was no more than the length of his index finger, of solid gold, and weighed heavily in his palm. A general’s seal. Proof of their power over their armies, territories, and their house. Not once did Kenma ever expect the Cats’ seal to make its appearance. Nekomata had given it to him for safekeeping, or perhaps… Was there something else to the decision?

Kenma was ready to dismiss the notion until he recalled what the emperor had said earlier: _Nekomata-san told me he’d be a very good fit for you._ Meaning the emperor and Nekomata had colluded beforehand. Meaning there was a possibility his death was no mere accident. A sacrifice maybe, but certainly no accident. Kenma’s heart began to pound against his chest. A chill crawled up his spine, as though he had just stepped inside a predator’s den. He quickly stashed the seal inside his _haori_ and stowed the box away, locking it all up and replacing the tatami panel. The lantern had been growing dim. Kenma killed the flame.

\---

The air was different in the imperial hall today. It buzzed with an excited energy, the air filled with curious murmurs as nobles whispered amongst one another, their hands covering their mouths. The generals hummed, glancing and nodding to their ministers, and to one another they mumbled their appraisal of the man who stood beside Kenma. 

He was tall. A little over a head taller than Kenma was, though his spiky mess of a hair was partly at fault. His armor, unlike the generals’, was simple and worn, but he carried it with a certain confidence, standing without a crack in his serious expression even when surrounded by all these nobles. Kenma could glean at the very least, that this man, whoever he was and however he managed to earn himself the right to appear before the imperial court, was of low birth. A peasant. 

The Emperor was awarding the Cats with a peasant for a general. They were going to become a _laughingstock_ within the court. First Nekomata’s death, and now this? The General was the House’s main figurehead, typically a highborn with significant wealth and power to help bolster their forces. What power could a peasant provide? Kenma’s head swirled with all sorts of thoughts, and his gut twisted. So preoccupied was he with the implications of all this that his body simply jerked forward by itself into a bow upon hearing the emperor’s voice. 

“Kozume Kenma,” that light tone regarded him, and Kenma’s chest constricted. Once again all the noise in the imperial hall was quelled. 

“Your majesty,” he replied as loud as he could after raising his head. His voice felt as if scattered throughout the imperial hall. Tiny. Meaningless. 

“Meet your new General, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

So that was his name. That name was... familiar to Kenma, for some reason. It was a name he had encountered once or twice in the past, but he couldn’t quite remember the circumstance. 

“Pleased to meet you, my general.” He bowed again, though not quite as low. The kowtow was reserved only for the emperor. 

“Kuroo Tetsurou, your new Minister.” 

The man turned to him and bowed with equal politeness. When they glanced each other in the eyes, Kenma froze. The way Kuroo looked at him felt as if he were being put under scrutiny. Kenma glanced away almost immediately. He had a hunch there was something more to him that Kenma couldn’t quite place at the moment. Certainly not surrounded by the court. The general quirked a brow in response, but said nothing. 

“I hope you two get along well! Now I understand that Kuroo’s presence here is a bit of an oddity,” the emperor said with a casual chuckle and a wave of his hand as though he hadn’t just broken centuries of tradition by bringing a peasant to court. “I’m sure people have their objections...” 

Kenma knew his pause was deliberate, and the court took the bait. Hands were raised, and the emperor let their concerns be heard. They mostly came from nobles, who were appalled at the idea of a peasant general. Allowing Kuroo such a position would do nothing but to sully the name of Generals. Hums of agreement rippled through the room. Kenma glanced quickly at Kuroo, and to his surprise, the general was _smirking._ Lopsided, almost arrogant, resembling something of a sneer. 

More concerns were raised. What of the new brigade? From where would the emperor pull a thousand men from? It was clear that none of the other Houses intended to donate, and how shameful would it be to have your army comprised of other Houses’ forces? Soon, the court erupted into heated discussion of logistics and other terms like glory and reputation. All these were vague and hypothetical terms of course, but such was the way of the court and the nobles who ran it. Among the noise he picked up on General Bokuto yelling something about fighting the peasant general, to have him prove his worth. 

Finally, the Emperor ceased the discussions with three claps of his hands. “Alright, alright~ That’s about all I’m willing to entertain on the matter! Kuroo Tetsurou has more than enough experience to back up his position as General. He leads a company of mercenaries and has been on expeditions both inside and outside of the country. I’m certain his knowledge would be a valuable asset. As for his brigade, I’m sure you can figure it out yourselves. Any questions~?” 

“Not to be rude to your majesty, but what of his reputation?” A voice spoke up. Miya Atsumu, the Minister of the Foxes “Surely a... peasant general would do nothing but lower the status of his _fellow generals_ now, wouldn’t it?”. Right he was to question the decision. The Foxes oversaw the distribution of power amongst the nobles; land, armies, laws, overseeing the Cats by extension. Anything threatening that, be it a foreign entity, or a shift in dynamic, was something they dealt with quickly. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that~” The emperor said in a sing-song voice, “Kuroo Tetsurou has more than earned a reputation after saving me from some marauders a few weeks back. Out of the goodness of him and his men’s hearts, they escorted me back to the capital even without knowing I was the emperor! Isn’t he so valiant?” The Emperor spoke of the general as if he were some sort of pet, and Kenma caught Kuroo’s eye twitch just a little bit, his smirk definitely strained. 

“So, as emperor, don’t you think it’s appropriate I reward my subjects? I wouldn’t think anyone would have an issue after all, when we all know where the Cats stand.” To drive his point further, the emperor tapped down thrice. Near the bottom of the platform were carvings of cats sitting; indolent creatures. Equipping them with a band of mercenaries would do little to change the order of things around here. 

With that, the emperor had drawn the court in favor of his decision. There were murmurs still, of reputations and lineages, but rarely did discussions in politics satisfy all parties. The rest of the hearing proceeded on. The emperor called forward two attendants who carried in lacquered boxes with golden designs, shining as if solid gold in the sunlight. Once opened, a box revealed two items: a porcelain cat mask, and an iron muzzle with snarling teeth. 

At the sight of the mask, Kenma felt his heart stop. The moment he put on that mask, he would be one step closer to replacing Nekomata. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit upright as the attendant approached from behind, placing the mask over his face and secured it in place with a silken ribbon, bright red. The same was done to Kuroo, the muzzle covering his nose and mouth. 

The reality of it all wouldn’t quite hit him just yet. Kenma watched, or rather, just let the events pass through his vision as they were presented with other items befitting their new roles. Matching red haoris, which the attendants helped dress them into, new robes and _hakamas_ , and for Kenma, a small lacquered box with a key. Since its contents weren’t to be revealed to the court, opening this box was left to Kenma’s discretion. Though he had a good idea of what it was. The box was roughly the size of his hand and likely contained his minister seal. A new one. 

Once the procession of objects had been concluded, and both he and the general were clothed with the hakama, the emperor officiated their status. Kozume Kenma and Kuroo Tetsurou were respectively the Cats’ new Minister and General. When he paused--deliberately--nobody objected. Nobody hailed them praise either. It was a somber affair, and even the ever-cheerful emperor made a noise of disappointment. 

Afterwards, the emperor gave Kenma a briefing on his duties towards his new general. Though Kuroo already gained the title, he needed to perform the part as well. He lacked the background needed, and so Kenma was in charge of his education: from economics, politics, law, and even etiquette. Similarly, the general had his own duties towards his own men: training them, mobilizing their forces on command. By the time the emperor finished, the haori Kenma wore felt like a pair of hands on his shoulders, gripping, emphasizing that this was his responsibility and that he could not mess up. His throat was constricted, and he could barely express gratuity towards the emperor. 

Once the assembly had been adjourned, Kenma rose from his kneeling position. So did his general. A good thing about the mask was that it blocked a significant portion of his vision so that he wouldn’t have to worry about the stares. Unfortunately this was negated by the general beside him who drew in attention like a moth to a flame. Most nobles scoffed and exited the hall, tailed by their ministers and generals. The two who remained however, approached: Minister Akaashi and General Bokuto. Once again, Akaashi was curt with his congratulations, while General Bokuto was circling the other general with a challenging look in his eyes. 

“So you’ve fought in plenty of battles, huh!” He said. “You must be pretty good if you’re still alive, or just pretty lucky!” His grin was obvious even underneath his pointed muzzle. “Do you think I can take him on, ‘Kaashi? I bet I’ll completely crush him!” 

“Please forgive the noise, Minister Kozume, General Kuroo.” Akaashi bowed politely, at General Kuroo as well, albeit with more restraint. “My general is quite curious about the newcomer.” 

Hearing _Minister Kozume_ left a sour taste in his mouth. He swallowed his protests. It hadn’t sunken in yet. Not yet. The court, however, was moving on.

“Greetings,” General Kuroo said, waving his hand. His tone casual as if greeting an acquaintance. His voice was deep and had a certain lilt to it reminding Kenma of the southern provinces “And who are you lot?” 

The blunt manner of his speech came as a surprise, especially to Kenma who had spent the majority of his life within the court keeping his tone respectful and polite to divert attention away from himself. It was better to appease some noble’s attitude than get punished. Fortunately for General Kuroo, the Owls were the Cat’s allies ---or at least Akaashi was. They were one of the more prominent Houses with territories across the land. They were among the conqueror Houses, in charge of mobilizing great armies to expand the country. A vital role, especially when their empire relied on it to function. 

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou! _General_ Bokuto to you!” 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji, Minister of the Owls. Pleased to make your acquaintance, General Kuroo.” 

“Likewise,” General Kuroo said, bowing. “I remember fighting with the Owls once. You guys are fond of that _kanabo_ weapon, aren't cha?” 

General Bokuto brightened immediately. “Yeah! They all take after me!” He puffed out his chest in pride. It was easy to divert his attention, and the longer Kenma listened in on their conversation, the sooner he came to the conclusion that General Kuroo had more to him than just combative prowess. Perhaps it was because General Bokuto was easily swayed or just incomprehensibly friendly, but very soon the two were exchanging stories of the battlefield from the far reaches of the empire. 

As the generals were getting acquainted, they started walking down the hall, Kenma and Minister Akaashi following a few steps behind them. There were less people around, mostly servants who ducked out of their way or guardsmen who lined the halls. It was strange viewing the hallways through a mask. Strangely comforting. Portions of his vision were blocked but not so much so that it became a hindrance. Rather, what he’d usually attempt to cover with the sides of his long hair, alongside his facial expressions were now covered. How ironic, to be more free from his anxieties after being given more responsibilities. 

“How does it feel to be a minister?” Minister Akaashi asked him. He looked straight ahead, and his stately posture betrayed no sense of familiarity between them. Kenma, though not as refined with his posture as he preferred to keep a low head amongst nobles, kept in line with Akaashi’s grace, looking forward as he spoke. 

“It doesn’t feel quite real yet,” he said. _As if I’ll wake up at any moment._ The haori felt heavy, clinging onto him like a second skin and he wanted nothing more than to take it off. 

“It’s a burden you’ll get accustomed to,” Akaashi said. “But if you ever find yourself in any spot of trouble…” he trailed off. 

Kenma smiled under the mask. “Take to the roofs,” he said. It was a code of theirs, signifying the difference between a political request, and a personal request. Though friendships were kept in the court, one had to pick them wisely. Friendship for formalities’ sake was a necessity, but showing true friendship was a risk. Nobody wanted to be used as leverage for each other, or have their favorites displayed. 

“Take to the roofs.” Akaashi repeated. “Well then,” he nodded, gesturing at his general (who was still animatedly talking) before striding ahead. With a brief glance at his general, Minister Akaashi managed to cease his chatter with General Kuroo and lead him towards their carriage. It was decorated with gold, the color of the Owls, and soon enough they rode away, General Bokuto’s voice still quite heard. 

“Man that guy can’t shut up, huh?” General Kuroo said, rubbing his ear. At the sight of Kenma, his eyes widened for a moment, before settling back to that piercing, focused glare. They were the color of amber, Kenma had just noticed. Thin and narrow. “Pardon my language, dear minister,” he bowed. It felt strange to have a man a head taller than he was to bow. It was usually Kenma who did the bowing. When the general rose, a fringe of his spiky hair covered one eye slightly, a hairstyle that Kenma thought, now he had the time to observe, looked quite strange. 

Despite the mask he found himself glancing away from the gaze of others. Even his general’s. Again he felt as if he were being put under scrutiny with that gaze of his, like an animal sizing up prey. Indeed, there was more to the general, and he saw it during his conversations with General Bokuto: he was the type who picked his battles well. This was a man who played nice when he had to, who smiled when needed to, but when Kenma saw him smirk dirtily while the court objected to his presence, Kenma had little reason to believe his amiability was genuine. He felt as if he were being probed through his gaze alone, and it left him with a constrictive feeling in his chest. Just what was Nekomata thinking when he said they would be suitable for each other? 

“General Kuroo,” he bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Minister Kozume, right? Pleasure’s all mine.” 

They were silent for a while, and it gnawed on Kenma as General Kuroo continued looking at him. When he spoke, finally, Kenma tensed up. “I’ll be frank with you, dear minister. I’d really prefer if we get along,” he grinned, and even with the muzzle, Kenma knew. 

“Likewise,” he agreed. Kenma had no desire for friendship; in fact he’d very much prefer if they only regarded each other and worked from a distance. Unfortunately that couldn’t be the case, as the emperor had tasked him with _educating_ the general, ensuring they would be in contact for a significant amount of time. He could only hope General Kuroo was a fast learner. 

“I’m in your care, then. With that being said…” From his sleeves he pulled out a small scroll and handed it to him. “This is for you. _He_ told me to hand it in personally. Said it would explain some things.” 

Nekomata. Kenma’s pulse quickened as he took the scroll and pocketed it. He nodded in thanks, and the general merely wiggled his eyebrows, a gesture so casual that Kenma’s mouth was left hanging open behind the mask. General Kuroo didn’t stick by too long after that. He mentioned something about business elsewhere and Kenma wasn’t about to prolong their time together, the scroll occupying most of his thoughts and so they bade each other goodbye and Kenma went to the carriage. Fukunaga’s eyes widened seeing him with the mask and the haori but didn’t say a word, for which Kenma was glad. During the brief ride he held the tiny scroll delicately in his palms. It weighed like a feather in his grasp and he feared if he held on too tightly he’d crumple it, ruin it, but if he loosened his grip it would flutter away.

Upon his arrival at the Cats’ estate, he was filled with sudden dread. A swelling in his throat. The haori clung to him, heavier now, and with each hesitation of the attendants and servants, each bow and address as “Minister” instead of “Kozume-sama” he bit down harder on his lip, the pressure inside his chest building up. When his feet took him to Nekomata’s--- _his_ office, he slid the doors shut and collapsed to his knees, his head lowered, the same sudden exhaustion from the day’s events surging him in a single grate wave that overwhelmed him. He shed the haori and removed the mask, taken aback when he saw droplets of water inside, and he quickly wiped them away with a sleeve, for fear of staining the scroll. 

Sniffling, he unfurled it, and read the last words he’d ever receive from his dearest master.

_Dear Minister,_


	2. Mask and Muzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo learns a few lessons. Some of which were things he already knew. Well, he tries to have some fun out of it.

Kuroo was invited to the Cats’ estate three days after his introduction to the court. The estate was situated close to the Imperial Palace at the center of the city; a modest acre of land fenced away in stone and white walls. The sturdy wooden gate was guarded by two sleepy-looking fellows who used their _naginatas_ less as weapons, and more as poles they could lean against to rest. 

“Man, it must be so nice in the capital~ You guys get to be so relaxed around here,” he said, a smirk crawling up his lips.

The guards spared him a quick glance. Upon recognizing the muzzle on his face however, they straightened up and bowed before him, stammering over their greetings before allowing him in. He had to admit, it sure was _something_ to be at the receiving end of a bow like this. It still didn’t feel quite real to carry the title of a General, to be allowed all their privileges. Under the Cats it was not much, according to His majesty, the _prick_ , but it was more privilege than anything he had ever experienced in his life. 

It was not as though he was in a position to complain when he asked for this. 

Though the estate paled in comparison to both the Imperial Palace and a number of other structures he had seen in the city, it was elegant in its simplicity. An elderly woman, short and wearing a simple kimono, her white hair tied back into a tight bun atop her head, met him at the entrance. Standing on either side of her were two men, not quite as old as the woman, but still quite aged. Their beards were wispy and reached their chest. 

“Greetings, our General.” She bowed gracefully, and the two men lowered their heads with her. 

“Greetings,” he said, bowing back. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou, pleased to meet you. I suppose I’m in your care from now on.” 

The old lady glanced him up and down, a subtle squint of scrutiny on her face. Kuroo could tell why, of course. He looked nothing like a General. He and his worn armor and clothing lacked all the luxury a General was typically adorned with: silken robes, grand weapons, and an entourage of followers. The only thing he had going for him was his height, towering over them, and the _nagamaki_ sheathed on his back.

She gestured with a frail-looking hand inside the estate and he nodded, following them inside. He had to slow himself down to keep with their pace, their short legs making for a sluggish tour inside the house. They appeared even shorter in comparison to him with their hunched backs. To be polite, he introduced himself and asked for their names. Kaneko-san, the elderly woman in the lead, introduced herself as the head of the housekeepers. She presided over all issues regarding the estate, and the other housekeepers and attendants answered to her. The other two were Sato-san and Aoi-san, who followed three steps behind him. 

The garden caught Kuroo’s eye as they passed through the hallways, bright and verdant green. It seemed as if they had captured a forest within a frame; he halted mid-step to admire it. Lush _matsu_ , bamboo, and maple trees sprouted tall over green grass, the scenery stretching far into the horizon, so much of the land dedicated to this alone. It stole his breath, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

“Does the General enjoy the garden?” Kaneko-san asked. 

“Yes,” he said, blinking out of the stupor. “It reminds me of a forest I visited up north. Couple weeks’ worth of a journey.” 

Kaneko-san made a grunt that sounded like approval and Kuroo felt some pride flutter in his chest. He didn’t know anything about gardens and all that stuff since only nobles could afford to have such things, but he knew beauty when he saw it. That garden was one of them, as much of a waste of space as it was. 

Kaneko-san led the rest of the way through the estate. The whole place was bright and clean, the floors well-polished and each room floored with _tatami_. Kuroo—who was used to sitting on wood, straw mats, and dirt—couldn’t help but turn his head as they passed. Glimpses of scrolls, paintings, and flower arrangements were scattered throughout the rooms. Every _shoji_ screen was free of holes and tatters. 

It was a beautiful place. 

One that was his. 

However, even as he towered over these attendants, even as he was certain a single stretch of his arm could touch the ceilings, he felt small inside this massive estate. 

“We’ve arrived at the Minister’s office, General.” Kaneko-san turned to the shoji screen and slid it open a hair’s width. “Pardon my intrusion, Minister. I have escorted the General to your office. Shall I let him inside?” 

Kuroo didn’t hear the Minister’s voice, but Kaneko-san pushed open the doors and stepped aside to let him through. 

“Ah, thank you, Kaneko-san. Sato-san, Aoi-san.” Kuroo bowed at them. 

Kaneko-san and the rest bowed back and excused themselves. 

Now, time to face his dear Minister. Kuroo stepped inside and was immediately faced with him, sitting on a _zaisu_ , and the oddest thing was that he was wearing an entirely different mask, one that covered only half of his face, unlike the full mask the Emperor had given him. He recognized it: the old man’s mask. 

Kuroo gulped. Back then, Nekomata-san had entrusted that mask to the emperor alongside his seal just before he got into the carriage that ultimately led him to his demise. 

The minister bowed, his long black hair shifting to frame his face as he did so. A stack of scrolls and other papers were on the table in front of him. Kuroo’s learning materials.

“General Kuroo,” his Minister mumbled. Kuroo could barely hear his voice. 

“Dear Minister,” he responded, nodding. 

His Minister’s mouth opened as if to say something, then closed. He gestured to the other zaisu in front, silently instructing Kuroo to sit. 

Here’s a guy who didn’t waste any words, Kuroo thought. No attempt at chit-chat or formalities were made by the minister. They were getting straight to the point. 

Kuroo sat down, crossing his legs. “So what’s the lesson for today, dear Minister?” 

His minister glanced at the stack of scrolls and took one, his hand daintily rolling it open to reveal a strange map of sorts, of boxes containing symbols connected to one another, and various labels he couldn’t decipher. It resembled the roots of a tree, with all the lines leading to one symbol at the very top: a wolf. 

“The Carnivore Court.” 

Kuroo sat up straighter. 

The enemy. 

“You are a mercenary, correct?” 

Kuroo resisted the urge to lean in closer just to hear his voice. “That I am, dear Minister. Commander Kuroo Tetsurou, of the Iron Company.” 

His Minister paused. “I see. Then, tell me which Houses or clans you’ve served.” He pointed a finger at the map, and Kuroo couldn’t help but notice how thin and frail it looked, like a delicate sapling. He was the very picture of a noble; a pale and slender being whose skin was rarely touched by the sun. Dear Minister over here wouldn’t last a day on the battlefield. 

Kuroo glanced at the map and back at him. He listed off the notable ones quite easily. He and his company had fought in plenty of battles. Some of them were of minor clans, light skirmishes over settling a few square miles of territory, such as the clash between clans Gora and Ogano. Some battles were larger; engagements that ended bloodlines or established a new clan in the land like the recent emergence of the Himekawa clan. Rarely did he fight in battles serving Houses, as most of the time the Houses had their own forces, and it was seen as a point of pride to fight with one’s own claws. 

His Minister listened without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, but through the shift in his eyes come every new piece of information, Kuroo could tell he was thinking. Of what exactly, he couldn’t tell. Part of the reason was the mask, which obscured parts of the face Kuroo usually read: the lift of one’s cheeks, the wrinkling of a nose, or the twitch of a brow; such things that allowed him to adjust his actions accordingly. 

Essentially, it was to see how much he could mess around with a person. 

Admittedly, Kuroo was beginning to feel stuffy from all these formalities, and without some sort of break in the unease, he might just lose his mind. 

After a few moments his Minister gave a brief hum. “I see. Let’s move on, then.” 

“Wait,” Kuroo raised a hand. Realizing the impoliteness of his tone, he cleared his throat. “Pardon me dear Minister, but before we do that, can we take these mask things off?” 

For a second he saw something flicker in his Minister’s eyes. “It’s… alright for you to speak informally,” his eyes darted away as soon as they met Kuroo’s. “However, as Ministers and Generals, we have images to uphold, and so…” he trailed off, glancing up at him quickly before looking away again. Kuroo didn’t need to hear the rest to finish the rest of the statement. 

“So all this is merely for show,” he said, flicking the thing on his face. The iron muzzle twanged as if in complaint. 

Slowly, as if he were being cautious not to get caught, his Minister nodded, and Kuroo only noticed how _golden_ his eyes were at that moment. 

_So he thinks it’s bullshit, too._ Kuroo thought. He grinned. “Makes sense. Not like there’s any purpose to masks when your names are public.” 

His Minister made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “They’re symbolic.”

“Tell me how, then.”

\---

Once Kuroo had finished being tutored at the Cats’ estate, a messenger, this rather lackadaisical young man whose hair was parted down the middle and looked as if he’d rather go home than do his job was waiting for him outside, promptly summoned him to a private audience with the Emperor. Unhelpfully, the messenger departed right after escorting Kuroo from the Cat’s estate to the front entrance of the Imperial Palace, leaving Kuroo to figure out wherever the hell the ‘Imperial Viewing Chambers’ were. After what seemed like an hour asking around and wandering the area, he finally came across the correct room. He could tell because the Imperial Guard Dog, properly known as General Ushijima, stood in front, armed with two _katanas _slung on either side of his hip. He was about as tall as Kuroo, which was rare enough as it was; an imposing figure clad in armor with royal purple accents. On his face was a shining silver muzzle in the shape of a sharp eagle’s beak.__

__“General Kuroo,” General Ushijima nodded his head. No bow spared for him, huh? “You are late.”_ _

__“My most humble apologies,” he resisted the urge to give a patronizing bow, and instead went for a regular, exceedingly-respectful bow. “The Imperial Palace is a large place General, and as you should know, I’m quite unfamiliar with its layout.”_ _

__“In that case, you’d best acquaint yourself with the palace’s interior. Do not be a hindrance to his Majesty.”_ _

__With that, General Ushijima opened the door and allowed him inside. As he walked past, Kuroo felt the other General drill holes in the back of his head, and the heavy pressure in his chest didn’t disappear until the doors were shut._ _

__“I like that expression of yours, Kuro-chan!” The royal prick grinned, all relaxed and lounging about on a pile of cushions. “I take it the palace has been nice to you?”_ _

__The fact he was late to their lovely little meeting should tell the asshole just how easy of a time it was navigating the palace, but he decided to ignore the taunt altogether. “Your dogs are very well-trained, your Majesty. They take right after their bitch of an Emperor.” Kuroo narrowed his eyes at him, keeping the scowl on his face. _Trained to keep intruding peasants out, that is._ Now he had to deal with this asshole. _ _

__Just as his minister said, Kuroo kept his muzzle on, but also like his minister said, it was merely a symbol, one meant for nobles. For a guy like him who was just awarded the title without as much as a plot of land to his name, the power it carried within the palace was close to nonexistent. Word traveled fast, and it didn’t take more than a few days for every personnel inside to know who he was: the Peasant General._ _

__“My, you’re quite rude! That’s no way to talk to your Emperor!” The Emperor’s eye twitched. Unlike Kuroo’s minister however, he didn’t wear a mask. If they had met under different circumstances, Kuroo would have considered his face attractive; beautiful, even. Unfortunately, he had just about grown tired of it._ _

__“What, I said the title and everything! Shall I get on my knees and kowtow as well?” A smirk curled on Kuroo’s lips as he made a show of placing each knee on the ground, raising his hands as he bowed, over and over. “Ahh, your Majesty! Please allow me to kiss your perfect bosom!”_ _

__The Emperor made a face. “Just where do you think the bosom is?”_ _

__“I don’t know, from where does His Majesty’s shit come out of?”_ _

__“The bosom is the _chest._ ”_ _

__“My apologies for your defects,” Kuroo lowered his head, “I did not mean to make fun of your ailments.”_ _

__“Oh shush it!” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You dare patronize me? I could have you beheaded, you ingrate!”_ _

__“But you won’t,” Kuroo snickered, righting himself. “You’re in need of my services, your Majesty.”_ _

__The Emperor sighed, rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately so. Jokes aside, take a seat and help yourself, I’ve not much of an appetite today.”_ _

__On the table where the Emperor gestured were plates of fresh fish, thinly-sliced and laid over crushed ice, bowls of delicious-looking soup and fresh rice, still steaming. The sight beckoned Kuroo and he took a seat on the cushion, excusing himself for the intrusion, and helped himself to the Emperor’s chopsticks. An expertly-crafted pair, the teal paint at the blunt ends lacquered. He held them delicately in his hands, as if they’d break with any sudden movement. Moments later, he discarded the notion and held them like any other pair._ _

__“Thank you for the meal,” he murmured. _Feels nice feeding your leftovers to the dog, huh._ Kuroo resisted the urge to snort. _ _

__He should be thankful, he knew as much. He wasn’t in the position to complain, especially since the meal was delicious, as expected of the emperor’s cooks._ _

__He and the Emperor talked a bit more as he ate. It was a surprisingly civil discussion, not without a couple of jabs exchanged here and there, but he had long gotten over his apprehension over speaking so casually with the Emperor._ _

__“So what do you think of your new minister?”_ _

__Kuroo paused, the chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “He ain’t stuffy, which is a good thing.”_ _

__“Go on,” the Emperor didn’t appear satisfied._ _

__“He’s just as Nekomata-san said. Quiet, observant, and cautious. Teaches well, at least for me. Says everything clearly and directly. He really doesn’t mince his words.”_ _

__“You think he’s as smart as Nekomata-san told us, then?”_ _

__“I can’t tell just yet. He only taught me for some two or three hours,”_ _

__“And here I presumed you were the so-called expert on reading people,” the Emperor sighed, shrugging his shoulders._ _

__“Stuff like intelligence takes time. For all we know, he could just be putting up a front and be completely bullshit, y’know, like you.”_ _

__“Why you--”_ _

__“My point is,” Kuroo couldn’t help but smirk seeing the Emperor so heated, “I can’t learn much about him as I am right now. I don’t know shit about what’s going on with all these Houses and clans and whatnot.”_ _

__The Emperor narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed as if he was about to say something then thought better of it. “Fine, fine. Let’s bide our time then, Kuro-chan. Of course, that doesn’t mean I can have you lollygagging around. Learn to do everything you can to be of use to me.”_ _

__“Is that an order?” Kuroo raised his brow._ _

__The Emperor laughed. “Kuro-chan, I’m the Emperor. Everything I say is an order.”_ _

__Kuroo hummed. He wasn’t wrong, per se. So he kept right on eating. At some point he finally noticed how the royal pain-in-the-ass was gawking at him like some sort of street act._ _

__“You really eat like that?” The Emperor asked, his eyes wide open, likely with some strange fascination._ _

__“Like what, your Majesty?”_ _

__“Like,” his Majesty gestured at him, “that. It’s just quite… Unrefined? Brutish?”_ _

__“This is how normal people eat,” Kuroo said, placing the chopsticks down. _What the hell was he making a fuss over now? Not a single grain of rice on the table, nor any morsel of food.__ _

__The Emperor chuckled. “Oh Kuro-chan, you’re not a _normal_ person anymore. Now that you’re a general, you have to carry yourself like one. Say, did your minister mention any lessons on etiquette?” _ _

__Kuroo didn’t like hearing the way the Emperor put it: that almost-tangible division between nobles and normal people. “None that I know of,” he answered._ _

__The Emperor rubbed his chin in contemplation, humming. “I’ll have to start thinking of candidates for the part, then. Those willing to teach someone of your… caliber.”_ _

__Kuroo raised a brow. “Why not just order anyone to teach me? You’re the Emperor, they can’t say no to you.”_ _

__“Hah! That’s a misconception, Kuro-chan~ Things aren’t that simple. Though, it’s nothing you have to worry about right now. All you have to do is follow my orders, do your job, and most importantly, look the part.”_ _

__“So I’m in for a whole lotta fussiness, is what you’re saying.”_ _

__“Exactly.” The Emperor grinned. “We made waves with your grand introduction to the Carnivore Court, so I need you to lay low in the meantime, and win me a game of _Ayatori_ while you’re at it.”_ _

__Kuroo snorted. Cat’s Cradle. Winning a game like that required delicacy and foresight, neither of which he possessed. What his Majesty was asking of him was to get tangled in a long-running game of politics, and expected him to _win.__ _

___Bastard._ _ _

__“As you wish, your Majesty.” He sighed, finishing off the rest of the soup._ _

__“Hah! No backtalk this time? That meal must have been _good._ ” Oikawa lifted a hand over his mouth as he laughed. “What a quick change of heart, Kuro-chan. Tell me, what brought it about?”_ _

__“Well, like his Majesty said, I should start playing the part of General, right? So I’ll talk like one, eat like one, hell even shit like one if that’s what you command.”_ _

__“Hmm~ That’s what I like to hear.” The Emperor looked satisfied hearing his words, and ever so slowly his gaze drifted off to the sight of the Imperial Gardens below. His expression had this placid quality to it, but Kuroo knew the Emperor was anything but. Whatever he had going in his head, Kuroo wasn’t about to pry, lest he give him some vague answer or some half-assed assurance that “things will work out” which irked him to no end._ _

__Kuroo didn’t like not knowing, especially in the foreign world of politics, but he hated being given that sliver of false hope even more. So he kept to himself and finished off the luxurious food, its taste now faded in his mouth, and excused himself._ _

__“Where are you going?” The Emperor asked. No urgency in his tone, just curiosity as far as Kuroo could tell._ _

__“Someplace with better food,” he said, rising from the table. “A soldier’s gotta eat, after all.”_ _

__\---_ _

__As soon as he left the palace, Kuroo removed the muzzle and stowed it away in the _furoshiki_ tied to his back. His chest lightened considerably now that he was free to navigate his way through the capital. Mounted high atop a hill, the Imperial Palace overlooked the city. A horizon of tiled roofs and stone walls that bustled with populace; people, horses, carts, moving through the network of paved stone. One couldn’t help but think how splendid it all was, taking in the broad expanse of the city from the palace. How it extended as far as his eyes could see; seemingly endless in its vastness. _ _

__It wasn’t his first time seeing a city from a vantage point like this. He had climbed guard towers and conquered city walls in the past, but those cities were typically abandoned, demolished, or up in flames._ _

__Just about anyone could feel powerful taking in a sight like this._ _

__During Kuroo’s descent down the stairs he saw an official, his nose pointed high up the air and his arms folded behind his back. Though the other man didn’t wear a mask, he looked important enough judging from his robes and the handfuls of assistants that trailed after him. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgment, he passed by Kuroo._ _

__“Don’t loiter around, soldier.” the imperial guard by the gates said._ _

__Kuroo snorted, a smirk on his face. “Sir yes sir,” he answered back, before sauntering past the gates. It shut behind him with a heavy thud._ _

__Now, the city._ _

__Outside the palace, the buildings surrounding it hardly differed in comparison. Clean roads shined in the sun, with servants dutifully sweeping the entrance gates of leaves and dust. Milling up and down at leisurely paces were carriages drawn by strong horses, the type he’d kill for in battle. From what he could gather from previous explorations, this was the district where noble clans resided. The closer they were to the imperial palace, the more they were deemed important, reflecting on the size and extravagance of their homes. The Cats’ estate was further away by the outskirts, but still undeniably a part of the noble mess. Each residence was marked by their animal sigils, posted above a nameplate, carved on dark wood and painted with gold. Honestly, it barely felt as if he had left the imperial palace at all._ _

__Each plot of land he passed was guarded by armed men who narrowed their eyes at him as he walked past, a silent ward away from the houses, as if he would just barge in and start stealing. The people walking around here were nobles, and Kuroo, not wanting to _offend_ their delicate egos at the sight of a commoner like him stuck to the waysides, keeping a wide berth of any particularly important-looking folks like ladies flocked by her attendants, shielded from the sun by vividly-painted _wagasa_ umbrellas. Without his muzzle, he slipped right past their vision, and the rest of his walk headed downtown was relatively uneventful. _ _

__Downtown was more his speed. Past the noble district, things had a more inviting chaos to it. People were noisy and carriages drove past quickly, the drivers yelling people aside. Shops and restaurants came in greater abundance here, mingling with the houses; piles of merchandise spilling out into the street, buyers and sellers yelling over one another as they haggle; a comfortable chaos he much preferred._ _

__When he spotted a familiar sakura wood bench and black _noren_ curtain of the familiar _dango_ shop in the distance, he whistled as he approached. _ _

__“Hello~” He greeted the shopkeeper. She was a plump elderly woman who always had a wide and inviting smile on her face. Despite how popular her dango shop was, she never forgot a face and was always eager to serve._ _

__“Tetsu-kun, you’re back!” Her face beamed as she approached him._ _

__“I’m surprised you still remember, Yumie-san. It’s only been three days since I’ve been coming in now.”_ _

__Yumie-san winked and tapped her temple. “I could never forget a handsome face like yours, Tetsu-kun!”_ _

__“Ooh, is someone trying to make a sale?” He snickered. “You know you don’t need to flatter me for that, when your dango’s just so good~”_ _

__She laughed. “Ooh, is someone trying to score a discount?”_ _

__Kuroo snapped his fingers, grinning. “Damn, caught me right in the act. Alright then, give me a plate of _mitarashi_ dango, I’ll go have it outside,” _ _

__Yumie-san nodded, gesturing at an empty bench outside. He sat there, watching the crowd at leisure. It had been a long time since he had the time to do this, sitting around without having to do anything. No mountains to march, no rivers to wade; nothing but to listen to the sounds of a city alive and bustling. A Rickshaw carts milled past; every creak and groan of the wheels sharp in his ears. Chatter, harsh and high-pitched came from the next stall over, grinding painfully in his teeth. He clenched his jaws to ease the sensation, taking deep breaths._ _

__“Here’s your mitarashi dango,” Yumie-san’s voice wrenched him out of his stupor and immediately his whole body relaxed as if he had just taken a deep breath. His palms were sweating, and he quickly wiped them on his sleeves before accepting the plate. Three skewers of rice cake glazed with a delicious sauce._ _

__“Now you’ve really outdone yourself with this one,” he grinned at her, and slowly the constricted feeling in his chest subsided._ _

__“How about another plate, then?”_ _

__“I’d love to, no really, I’d love to. But unfortunately, I already nabbed some free lunch elsewhere, but it wasn’t really that good, so I went here to get the rest of my fill,” he snickered, taking a bite off a skewer. Now _this_ was delicious. Yumie-san stuck around for a little bit and they made some small talk as he ate. Maybe it was just him, but eating with a friend---hell, even friendly strangers---made the food taste all the more delicious. After paying for his meal, he left the dango store and headed out to the city gates. _ _

__\---_ _

__The settlement the Emperor oh-so graciously provided the Iron Company was nothing more than a plot of land enclosed in his teal _jinmaku_ curtains with the wolf seal, some ways outside the capital’s walls. Inside the jinmaku they made their tents and other makeshift shelters. A few of the men had already begun laying out foundations for more stable houses, marked by rectangles of bamboo stakes driven into the ground. At the very least they were permitted to cut down wood and harvest rush for mats and roofing. Still, it would take a week or so for them to complete it. _ _

__Kuroo greeted his men as he made his way towards the tent he shared with his two fellow commanders. Tired from the day, he sighed as he brushed aside the tent flaps._ _

__“Well, well, well, look who’s back from being General! Took ya long enough!”_ _

__“Shut up, Yakkun…” Kuroo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his friends. Yaku and Kai were sitting around a makeshift hearth, the firewood crackling in a shallow hole, the area contained within a circle of rocks. Suspended over it was a pot of boiling soup hanging from a tent of sticks. It smelled good, but Kuroo already had his fill._ _

__“How was the capital?” Kai asked. His smile was as calm as ever._ _

__“It was fine,” he told them, grunting as he sat down on the mat beside them. “Stuffy as ever. Top dog’s on my ass, and as for the rest of his little hounds… Well, you know how it is with nobles.”_ _

__Yaku snorted and Kai sighed. Whatever flicker of hope they had over gaining some respect from the nobles had died. It wasn’t as simple as putting on a muzzle, and like his minister said, it was all bullshit. Symbols. However, they weren’t about to get heated over the way the world worked when they’ve lived their whole lives in it._ _

__“At least I’m getting along with the little kitty,” Kuroo said, laying on his side._ _

__“Oh?” Kai quirked a brow._ _

__“Well, it ain’t hissing or scratching, so that’s something,” Kuroo snorted._ _

__“If it does, then we just have to scratch the cat back, right? Make him regret it!”_ _

__“Don’t be so hasty to throw away all of my hard work, Yakkun…”_ _

__“What? It’s not like we’ll die if they kick us out. We can go west or back down south where all the fighting’s at and in a few months, they’ll forget about us.”_ _

__“True that,” Kai sighed. “With the Empire expanding, there’ll be more men to go around. It’s unfortunate, but average mercenaries like us aren’t exactly a precious resource.”_ _

__“See, Kuroo?”_ _

__Kuroo sighed. “True that, true that.”_ _

__As the conversation drifted off to other mundane topics like supplies and money (he’d have to pester the royal bitch for more), Kuroo turned silent. He couldn’t stop thinking of what Yaku and Kai said. He didn’t blame them, of course, because this was life. However, he kept to himself the idea that all they should work harder to keep what had been given to them: a House to serve, proper ranks, and a new purpose---whatever that may be._ _

__He remembered some time ago after he had saved the Emperor, the old man Nekomata-san told him, in a brief conversation over some fruit and wine, that he was counting on him to ‘lower the threshold’ for everyone else; for everyone like him._ _

__Then, he remembered his minister. How he had told him what symbol the muzzle represented: the wealth, territory, power, and influence of people who were deemed worthy of wearing it._ _

__To get all that, he needed just a little bit of ambition._ _

__Sooner or later the conversation reached its natural end and Yaku yawned, loud and audible. “‘Night,” he mumbled sleepily, and Kuroo heard him unfurl a blanket from the corner. Kai was already asleep, his breathing slow and calm. Not too long after, Yaku’s snoring followed._ _

__“Night,” Kuroo mumbled back, shifting closer towards the warmth of the fire. Kuroo stared at the hearth, the gentle pulsing red glow of cinders. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, he then took hold of the iron _hibashi_ chopsticks and stoked the embers._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can already feel in my heart how slow this slow-burn is gonna get because I have so much plot in mind but don't worry! I'll do my best to keep you guys entertained while it's unfolding!! 
> 
> Also, I'm thinking of uploading drawings about it sometime soon, like the map and whatnot :o If ever you want to see that, you can go and check it out on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/danmujiji) here!


	3. Tailored Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma is adjusting to tutoring General Kuroo, and finds him quick to learn despite his education (or lack thereof.) Though he intends to keep their relationship purely formal, the General has other plans in mind.

“The most important thing that the General needs to know is that agriculture is the largest, and therefore the most important trade the Empire has. Everything the Empire does is meant to feed the business of agriculture. So, why the need for expansion?” 

“Ah! More land means more farming. More farming, more food, and more people.”

“And when there are too many people?” 

“Means the Empire needs more land to feed and house them. Cycle continues. Easy!” General Kuroo grinned. 

Kenma nodded. Kuroo-san’s education had been going smoothly so far. Despite lacking any academic background, he grasped the lessons quickly and knew to compare it to his own experiences as a mercenary. On occasion he would need clarifications for certain things, but it came mostly when the lessons treaded towards theory rather than practicality. Kuroo-san, it seemed, did not care much for learning philosophy or cultural studies. 

Kenma liked that. Though he understood the merits of philosophy and the like, he didn’t particularly care about them, nor was he particularly interested. Even if the Emperor did in fact ‘recommend’ Kenma teach him, he told Kuroo-san he was to save those studies for last.

“Oh, thank god,” General Kuroo sighed with relief, brushing that fringe of hair back. It immediately sprung back into place, and Kenma couldn’t help but quirk a brow at the peculiarities of his hair. 

“Most of it is just pretense.” Kenma told him, “Taradiddle. But it’s something we have to learn…”

“Taradiddle,” General Kuroo repeated. “That’s a new word. What’s it mean? Taradiddle, taradiddle…Hah!” he mumbled to himself, before chuckling. “Forgive me dear Minister, but it’s just so fun to say.”

Kenma blinked at that. It had been a long time since he had seen anyone so amused over a word, and for some reason he felt lighter just hearing a chuckle over something so simple. Refreshing, if anything. 

“Pretentious talk,” Kenma told him. 

“Ah, so noble chatter.” 

Kenma snorted, and the General smirked at that. 

“Glad my dear Minister agrees~ Again, it all comes down to bullshit, doesn’t it?” 

“Admittedly, yes. But it’s still something we all need to learn to live in the Carnivore Court. So it’s _necessary_ bullshit, if I were to use your words,”

Again, the General chuckled. Hearing a Minister use curse words seemed to amuse him greatly, and Kenma wasn’t surprised in the slightest. And, if he were to be honest, it was relaxing to see someone else think the same of all these customs. 

One upside to Kuroo-san’s peasantry was that slip-ups in Kenma’s own etiquette would be forgiven. It was a reach for him to think that, but perhaps the General knew it too and therefore spoke as he pleased around him, which Kenma appreciated. It was like he was expressing without words ‘you can drop the formalities, we both know neither of us care.’ It made his teaching duties easier, as most of the time he found that the General was willing to take over the more active side of the discussions. All Kenma had to do was read things off a book; hardly any socializing needed. (Although sometimes he surprised himself with just how much he could talk when formalities were put to the wayside.) No pretenses, or inveigling. 

_I sincerely believe the two of you would be a good match._ A line he remembered from Nekomata’s letter.

Kenma sighed. Kuroo-san noticed and tilted his head, waiting for him to speak up. As if to say _‘What’s bothering you?’_ without saying anything at all. Kenma shook his head and closed the book on agriculture. “We’re ending early today,” he told him. 

General Kuroo quirked a brow. “Business, I take it?” 

“Mmm,” Kenma nodded. 

“Then I shall leave you be, dear Minister. Thank you very much for the lessons today~” General Kuroo said with that drawling tone of his. He yawned and stretched from his cross-legged sitting position, rubbing the back of his bedhead. For some reason, the general paused to glance at Kenma. His gaze gripped Kenma’s heart like claws upon tender flesh. 

Kenma blinked and glanced away first. Fortunately, the moment passed and the general excused himself before exiting. Kenma didn’t realize then how tense his body had been until that moment. The way Kuroo-san tried analyzing him had Kenma’s stomach in knots.

It was not as though Kenma told a complete lie. He had to deal with a number of merchants from the Snakes in two hours, but truly the reason he had to cut the lesson short was because he could tell Kuroo-san wanted to breach a line Kenma wasn’t quite ready to allow anyone over. 

Forming a friendship with the general---or anyone, really---was something Kenma found difficult. His asocial personality aside, unless he could guarantee they weren’t planted to influence him or had the means to protect his friends from possible attacks, friendships invited more trouble than what they were worth. 

Besides, he had absolutely nothing to offer anyone. 

The only exception was Minister Akaashi, of whom Kenma could offer counsel. For the general, he could provide nothing except cooperation, of which could be achieved without friendship. So he didn’t understand where Nekomata’s confidence came from. 

_You may not believe it, and you may think you never will; but dear minister, I believe you are capable of great things._

Kenma slumped over and rested his cheek against the table. He sighed, a heavy cloud filling his chest as he recalled the letter. Nekomata believed in him a little too much, and the more he thought about his master’s words, the more it felt like he was being inveigled into… something. He still held the events with suspicion; Nekomata’s death, the new general, and the Emperor’s attention towards the Cats. 

Just thinking about the possibilities made his head swirl. 

Maybe Kenma was just being too paranoid. He shouldn’t try to cloud Nekomata’s death with schemes of this sort. Perhaps he was just overthinking it, since after all, everything seemed perfectly reasonable: the Emperor was saved and decided to promote the mercenary into a general for a weak and relatively useless House. 

Nothing more than that. 

Yet he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that something was wrong, especially with Kuroo-san in mind. He didn’t appear to be the sort of person to merely sit and rest easy. Elsewise, he wouldn’t be so keen on the lessons; nor would he have agreed to study etiquette. Despite his appearance and status, Kenma could tell he was more inquisitive than the average person. 

As much as he begrudged this feeling that spurned his imagination, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. 

\---

Perhaps he spoke too soon about the general. The keenness Kuroo-san had displayed in his previous lessons had dulled. Increasingly, he took more liberties with himself and his behavior. Not that Kenma particularly minded, seeing as he didn’t keep himself in line with proper decorum either. Within the walls of his office, he permitted himself to slouch, so it didn’t seem fair to force the general to stick to formalities either. 

Of course, that didn’t mean Kenma was willing to let anything slide. Once or twice, Kuroo-san had yawned and Kenma stared at him each time. The third time he did, the general noticed him staring and a smirk crawled up his face. Even with the muzzle on, Kenma could tell when the bottom of his eyes lifted up. Those hazel eyes again, taking their time to examine him. At that moment, Kenma felt as though he had seen an expression like that before. 

“And why is my dear Minister looking at me so? Am I that handsome?” 

The tone of his voice alone had Kenma wanting to roll his eyes. “You flatter yourself,” he mumbled, glancing away. 

“Well someone has to!” General Kuroo snickered. “I could do with some encouragement, dear Minister~” 

“You’ve been doing quite alright without any, so I don’t think it’s necessary. ” Kenma told him. Yes, that was good. He should keep his distance like this. 

The general groaned, and in a gesture that suspended the breath in Kenma’s chest, placed his elbow over the table, and locked their eyes together. “You’re so stingy, dear Minister.”

Kenma glanced away too quickly for his own liking, balling up his fists in response to the sudden eye contact. His heart was pounding in his chest. After a few moments he managed to gather himself, pretending to be occupied with fixing a pile of scrolls. “General, y-you act too casual around me.” 

“Well, we must get along, correct? Generals and Ministers work in tandem, and perhaps this humble peasant may be overstepping his boundaries to suggest this, but would my dear Minister consider the idea of us being well-acquainted?” 

“It would be wise,” he paused, catching the glimmer of excitement in the general’s eyes, “if you were to invest your friendship elsewhere.”

General Kuroo dramatically clutched his chest as if shot by an arrow. “Quite a rejection, dear Minister! Does my peasantry bother you so?”

“That’s not…”

“Tell me the problem, then.”

Kenma sighed. “I am simply… unsuited for friendship. And I don’t have anything to offer you which would make any attempt worth the effort.” With those words, he was certain the General would give it up. 

“That’s a funny way of seeing friendship, dear Minister. It almost makes me want to prove you wrong~”

“Please,” Kenma couldn’t help himself say, some exasperation slipping through his voice, “-don’t be so persistent on the matter,” 

“Oh dear Minister, if I am anything, it’s persistent.” 

There was something in Kuroo-san’s eyes that told Kenma he had fallen into some sort of trap, and that he was going to make it very difficult for Kenma to keep his distance. Worry filled his mind, and he wanted to kick himself for not having seen this coming. Kuroo-san was not a noble, therefore he thought differently of human relationships and, for some reason, had taken an interest in Kenma, who felt as though he had done nothing to warrant such attention. 

Or perhaps… had Nekomata encouraged him to do this? Kenma furrowed his brows. 

_What the hell had he gotten himself into?_

“Perhaps you should turn that persistence towards your lessons. Your etiquette, for example.” 

“I’ll start being mindful of it when you do,” General Kuroo grinned. “Besides, you’re one to talk,” He pointed at Kenma’s shoulders, which he only realized now, had slouched. 

He fixed his posture immediately, coughing politely. The general Kuroo-san laughed, and Kenma was incredibly grateful his mask obscured any flush his burning face could contain. Being caught a hypocrite was beyond embarrassing, and by his general, too! 

“Hey, it’s alright to be relaxed around me. You know, I’m not lying when I say the only times I can take a break like this are during our time together and when I return to camp, dear Minister. So let’s consider this time our own.” 

Kenma narrowed his eyes, trying to examine the general for some sign of sarcasm or ill intent. Then he thought about it and concluded there really wouldn’t be any harm in… permitting it. “You have your liberties, General. I suppose it’s about time you took them,” he sighed. 

“Yay~”

And Kenma could have sworn that underneath his muzzle, the General was _beaming._

\---

With the general’s lessons progressing and construction of the Iron Company’s lodgings going at an unprecedented rate, Kuroo-san was a few steps closer to achieving legitimacy--- or the appearance of it, at least. It wasn’t long before Kenma was tasked with another harrowing ordeal: clothes shopping.

One fine day, the general passed him an edict from the Emperor himself instructing him to find the standard clothing apt for life in the court. When he told Kuroo-san the contents of the letter, he scoffed. 

“Well pardon this humble peasant for being unable to afford fine silks,” General Kuroo rolled his eyes. “As long as it ain’t got holes in embarrassing spots, it’s wearable to me.”

Kenma had never seen anyone react to a direct message from the Emperor with such annoyance before. He almost let out a snort. “Indeed, you do garner too much attention inside the Court with your clothes, General. I suppose it was about time you paid a visit to the tailor. I don’t mind suspending today’s lessons for it.”. The task could probably be done in an hour or so. 

“Dear Minister, you don’t intend to have the peasant enter such a shop by himself, do you?” General Kuroo’s brow was quirked up. 

Kenma pursed his lips, his nose scrunching slightly. “I could have Aoi-san escort you.” 

“You know what I mean! Let’s go out, you and me,” General Kuroo insisted. 

Kenma didn’t see the point of going there himself. He wasn’t well-versed in fashion trends, and if anything was grateful for the red _haori_ he had to wear as a minister. “I… Just don’t think it’s necessary. I doubt I would be of much help in choosing, either.” 

“Great! Then we can fumble through it together. Besides, didn’t you agree this time was our own? How about the dear Minister take some time off to relax and get some sun? I think you need it, given you’re as pale as a sheet.” 

Kenma didn’t hesitate to roll his eyes this time. “You speak too much.” 

“And I’ll keep speaking if you don’t come with me.” 

“Ugh. Fine.” 

And that’s how Kenma found himself in the upper districts with his general Kuroo-san, who ironically held a parasol over him as they walked the streets. 

The Cats’ estate wasn’t that far from the tailors’, and Kenma had conducted business with them before. They were a rarity within the Capital as one of the few businesses affiliated with a lower-ranked House: the Crows. Though Asahi Tailoring was a small shop, it had been gaining renown for the high quality of cloth and exquisite designs the main tailor, Asahi Azumane, could create. Had it not been for a fact he was rather weak-willed, Kenma was certain the store would have been one of the Capital’s biggest. Regardless, it was still a respectable place for one to get clothed. 

The store was tucked between two other shops, larger and more well-known, dwarfing Asahi Tailoring in between. The sliding doors were open, and the tailor himself stood by the door ushering some customers outside. Upon catching sight of the muzzled General and his masked Minister, Asahi-san flinched as if prodded with a hot poker and, for such a large and imposing-looking man, he quickly shrinked as they approached. 

“G-good afternoon…! M-Minister K-Kozume and G-General u-u-uh…” 

“General Kuroo,” the raven-haired man added, trying to help. He even closed his eyes to indicate he was smiling. Unfortunately, his attempt at cordiality backfired when Asahi-san began trembling and bowing profusely, apologizing over and over for his insolence and for being unable to recall a general’s name and hoping they would forgive his grave offense. Kenma had to glare at Kuroo-san for him to stop snickering already and do something. 

When all that had been cleared up, Asahi-san ushered them inside the store, still looking quite shaken but at least calm enough that he was able to show them his craft. 

“O-over here we have silks with spring-themed embroidery, which is perfect for the current season,” he gestured at a few bolts of silk brocade embroidered with sakura flowers. From the way his brows furrowed, Kuroo-san didn’t seem to be interested in those types of designs. Neither was Kenma, as he preferred clothing that eliminated any chances of him standing out. As such, vivid or intricate patterns were out of the question for him. 

Curiously enough, Kuroo-san was occupied with the plainer, dark shades such as black and deep blue. He seemed to be deep in thought, carefully considering each bolt of cloth. After a few moments, he turned to Asahi-san and asked if he and the minister could be left alone for a few moments. 

“O-of course!” Asahi-san bowed, before running outside in a hurry. This earned a chortle out of the general Kuroo-san, and when they were alone he sighed. 

“Dear Minister, I don’t quite know what to get.” 

Kenma blinked. “Eh? General, I told you, I’m not… well-versed in these kinds of things.” 

“I know that, but I was thinking more of the price range.” General Kuroo took a bolt of silk, plain black, and unfurled it over the table like a scroll. With the tips of his fingers he glided over the fabric, light and delicate in a way Kenma would never have expected from such rough and calloused things; a touch that created not a single crease. For reasons unknown to himself, Kenma straightened his back as if those very fingers had drawn a line up his spine. “Something like this costs at least a hundred silvers, and that’s just from one bolt, let alone a couple hundred others,” 

“It’s… not as if you’re to change clothing thrice a day.” Kenma mumbled, shying away from him all of a sudden. “Besides, your stipend as a General would be more than enough to cover the costs, so it’s not as if the Cats’ would struggle under the expense.” 

General Kuroo’s eyes widened, staring at Kenma with dumbfounded shock. “I get a _stipend,_ dear Minister?” 

“O-of course. That’s why having a General is highly desired for a House.”

“I knew Generals were big-shots, but I kind of assumed the nobles paid for them.”

“No, the Imperial Palace does. That’s where a portion of the taxes go.” 

General Kuroo snorted. “How lovely it is to see it go towards my frivolities.” 

Kenma knew that same sort of annoyance. He had seen it on the faces of many people, both peasants and mercantile class alike. He doubted Kuroo-san would be pleased to hear the Cats’ were in charge of adjusting the amount of tax within the Capital, so he kept quiet for now.

Finally, Kuroo-san had gotten to selecting a few bolts of cloth to have tailored. They had invited Asahi-san back inside and he politely ushered the general behind a screen to get measured. While they were preoccupied, Kenma walked down the aisle of cloth, watching with passive interest the bright and beautiful patterns embroidered. They glowed in the light, and so impressive was the craftsmanship that it almost seemed as if they had painted grand scenes upon the cloth. Mighty winged birds emerging from clouds to swoop down into gardens of immaculate flowers to clash against majestic fanged beasts. 

Unlike the cloth Kuroo-san chose for himself, something of that quality would cost something in the tens of thousands, reserved only for the wealthiest. He understood, of course, why Kuroo-san opted not to splurge for himself. Kenma remembered the time when he too was presented with his first opportunity to purchase fabric for himself. He was younger then, much younger, and his eyes grew at the cavalcade of silken scenery, yet he felt at the time he was undeserving of such things. So he chose similarly: plain and simple cloth.

Suddenly, Asahi-san yelped from behind the screen. Kenma quickly went over to check and was met with the sight of General Kuroo’s bare torso. Underneath the layers of his clothing and armor was a sturdy, muscular frame hardened through battle evidenced by the scars adorning his skin. All manners of nicks and cuts, light and shallow and others dark against his skin. One notable scar ran from his shoulder blade to the small of his back, deep and jagged as if borne from a blunt and serrated blade. 

Kenma staggered backwards as he met Kuroo-san’s eyes. For a second they gazed at him as if he was in danger of being devoured, and Kenma froze in place. For a second his heart skipped a beat, and it wasn’t until the general placed his calloused hands over his chest and said _“Kya~ Such a perverted Minister~”_ did Kenma blink out of his stupor and frown at his words. It appeared Asahi-san was similarly shocked from seeing the scars, and had yelped out in surprise. He was still shaking in the corner, and out of politeness (or perhaps boredom) Kuroo-san covered himself up. 

But Kenma couldn’t remove the sight of all those scars from his mind, even if he wanted to, and now he feared the way he would see he would see the general would change knowing what lay beneath the cover of cloth. A strong reminder of what he was: a mercenary hardened by battle and an outsider to all the trivialities of nobility. 

“Ooh, that’s an interesting face, dear Minister!” General Kuroo said in a cheeky manner. 

Kenma turned away, his face burning all of a sudden. “Asahi-san, if you don’t mind…” 

Asahi-san jolted, seemingly jumping a foot into the air as he was addressed. “Ah, y-yes! My apologies for the de-de-delay!” With shaky fingers, he raised a tape measure to the General, and Kenma walked away to leave them to it, taking the opportunity to calm himself from the General’s comment. 

Was he truly that flustered? He believed not. He was simply… caught off-guard. 

Kenma occupied himself once more with staring at the silks as he returned to the table with the cloth Kuroo-san had taken out earlier. He dragged his finger across the surface out of some morbid curiosity, in doing so imagining the deep cut across the general’s back and his finger as the blade that caused it. Imagining things like that was enough to pass the time until the measurements were finished. Asahi-san promised the clothing would be finished in two weeks’ time and to wait until then.

During the walk back, there was a strange silence between them as they walked side by side, the General holding the parasol above his head. He didn’t have to, really, however for reasons unbeknownst to Kenma, or perhaps Kuroo-san simply had a moment of whimsy, he was insistent on doing so. 

“Dear Minister, I must thank you for today,” General Kuroo said suddenly. 

Kenma paused. “It was instructed of me.” 

“Still, I insisted you come along, and you did. Taking some time out of your busy schedule to accompany me.” 

“Class hours,” Kenma interjected. 

“What a nice and considerate man you are! So very kind!” General Kuroo cooed. 

Kenma, exasperated, rolled his eyes. “Ugh, will you stop that… It honestly wasn’t a big deal. It’s just clothes.” 

Before he knew it, Kuroo-san was chuckling. The sound of his laughter surprised Kenma, as he did not expect a reaction. 

“You know, you’re pretty interesting, dear Minister,” General Kuroo said. 

“Excuse me?” Kenma raised a brow and looked at him, quizzical. They made eye contact and quickly he darted his eyes away. Being thought of as ‘interesting’ was yet another thing he did not expect to be called today, and it contradicted what he wanted to be: unnoticed. 

“I thought you were going to be just some poker-faced snob, but who could have known you can make such expressions? Like now, for example, with your little scrunched nose and everything,” General Kuroo pointed.

Kenma’s hand flew to his face and covered his nose, a part the half-mask did not cover. “I did not.”

“Did too, dear Minister!”

“Did not.”

“Did too!” 

“Did not.” 

“Did too~” 

Kuroo-san seemed to take great enjoyment in continuing this, so just to get back at him, Kenma kept his silence, looking the other way because he just _knew_ Kuroo-san was gloating. He just seemed like that sort of person. So when Kenma slowly turned to face him again, he wasn’t surprised to see just that: Kuroo-san gloating, with his cheeks pushed upwards, no doubt in a smile concealed by his muzzle. This displeased Kenma, because there was absolutely no reason for him to gloat. 

“Don’t take my silence as a win, General,” he grumbled, walking past the parasol’s shade and into the sun. 

With a few strides he managed to catch up to Kenma, returning him to the cool shade. “Oya oya~? Did I offend my dear Minister~?” 

_Not in the slightest._ Kenma was only somewhat ruffled by it. “It seems you take liberties with your assumptions as well.” He snorted. 

“And liberties with my thanks. So again, allow me to say thank you, dear Minister. Sincerely, for accompanying me on this trip.” 

The way he looked at Kenma with such honesty, his hazel eyes maintaining a steady gaze on him, made it difficult for Kenma to rebuff his thanks. Again, he turned away, too quickly for his own liking. 

“T-think nothing of it,” he mumbled, mostly to himself as he lowered his head. His face burned for some reason. 

“As you wish~” 

The walk back to the estate became quiet once again. Though this time less stifled than earlier. Kuroo-san, he observed, had lowered his usual walking speed to a leisurely pace to accommodate Kenma’s, and it wasn’t long before they walked side by side. Kenma only noticed once they had reached the gates of the estate and the General excused himself to hurry away to meet his etiquette teacher, Kita Shinsuke, who was likely waiting inside. With a bit of relief on his part, Kenma dismissed him while he retreated to his own office, preparing himself to deal with paperwork. Boring paperwork. 

Perhaps it was fortunate he went outside with the General after all. It afforded him a break from his work, though brief as it was and he had spoken--- _socialized_ more than he intended. Not that conversing with General Kuroo was either particularly pleasant or nerve-wracking. It was simply… tolerable? Yes, that was apt.

Kuroo-san was tolerable the same way a stray cat lounging about the premises was tolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like things between Kuroo and Kenma are finally kicking off! With a bit of the worldbuilding out of the way, we can finally focus on the meat of the story: kuroken :Dc I have a bit of... scenes in mind for them, which will be sprinkled throughout the story, hehe. Thank you to everyone who's willing to sit through my slow-burn stories! 
> 
> And also, special thanks to my beta readers: [Nation](https://twitter.com/itsNationJoy), [Christy](https://twitter.com/kodzukuro), and [Neens](https://%20twitter.com/neenswrites)!
> 
> Check them out on twitter! Without them, this fic would probably be more convoluted...


	4. Accommodations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gradually adjusting to his new life, Kuroo reveals something a touch bit embarrassing about himself to his minister. Later on, Emperor Oikawa hints at his agenda, but annoys to Generals in the process. Kita-sensei is intimidating, but strangely motivating. Perhaps at the end of it all, Kuroo can get closer to his minister...

Kuroo hadn’t quite experienced a nervousness against his chest like this in ages. The pounding in his ribcage reminded him of that day in his youth when he had stood on the battlefield for the first time, his heart pounding against his teeth, a boy in worn armor so ill-fitting it was a miracle it hadn’t slipped off the moment he charged. But on the battlefield, he was armed - and as shoddy as his armor was, it kept him protected. 

Here, it was different. Here, Kuroo was to lay himself bare and vulnerable to Kozume-san, his minister. Kuroo’s only line of defense against him was his muzzle, but even so keeping his eyes steady and calm was a feat.

Upon the table between them was the contract for Kuroo’s salary, one of the many papers officiating his status as a General within the Court. At the very bottom was a line requiring a seal, but in his case, a simple signature would suffice. Across from Kuroo, Kozume-san was squinting at him in suspicion, with the smallest scrunch of his nose indicating some confusion in the mix. 

“There’s a problem with this contract.” 

“General Kuroo, I’d have to warn you… Though his Highness favors you, it’s unwise to bargain for more money.”

When Kuroo gulped, it felt like he was swallowing a fistful of unchewed rice. Half of his minister’s words were consumed in the loud and dull beating of his heart within his ears. The tightening in his chest was like being cornered in battle---there was no way around but through. Hands gripping his thighs, he bowed low enough for his forehead to touch the table.

“Dear Minister, I cannot read.”

Kuroo waited for the inevitable sound of laughter, for some other noise of disapproval, or smug affirmation of the fact that he was illiterate. When it didn’t come, he kept his head down, awaiting Kozume-san’s reaction. 

“You must have had your reasons for not telling me this, General. Erm… Please, raise your head.” 

Kuroo did, hoping any flush color to his face would migrate to his ears. Assessing the minister’s face (which was quite a task in itself), he didn’t find any trace of judgement, or much of any other emotion at all. For some reason, this put Kuroo more at edge than an outright expression. Perhaps Kozume-san thought he was some sort of idiot now, having revealed this fact about himself, and to a noble at that!

The minister rubbed his chin. “If anything, it’s impressive how you’ve managed to keep up with the lessons.”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. He didn’t expect to be flattered here, of all places. 

“However, the fact the General is illiterate still stands.”

Kuroo could say the same for his minister’s bluntness. He was right, though. No doubt it could be used against him or the Cats. “Battlefields aren’t exactly the best teachers for letters and stuff. I’ve spent more time burning books than attempting to read them.” 

At this, Kenma’s expression darkened. _He must be fond of books._ Kuroo regretted saying that, but it was the truth. Burning libraries and troves of information was just a part of the job. One couldn’t call a city razed while sparing a building. Besides, up to this point, Kuroo had always thought he’d never gain the opportunity to learn. He had always thought it was too late. 

“Can you tell me what your name means?” Kozume-san asked him. 

So Kuroo did. Writing it was out of the question, though. 

Kenma glanced at the piles of books and scrolls readied for their lessons today and set them aside in favor of a short stack of papers and his calligraphy set. He lifted a brush and began writing. His brushstrokes were graceful yet methodical. Never lingered too long over the parchment as he illustrated four characters. 

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

黒尾 鉄朗.

Kenma repeated each character slowly and carefully for him to follow, explaining things such as stroke orders and the imagery behind each character. His surname “Kuro-o” was easy. The character “黒” meant “black” and if he imagined it as a shut window, he could see it. “尾” meant “tail” and it was easy visualizing it as a cat from behind with its tail slightly curled. He had more difficulty with “Tetsu-rou” where “鉄” meaning “iron” could be seen as what, a blacksmith next to an anvil? And “朗” or “cheer”... He couldn’t even find a way to rationalize that image in his head. 

Once Kuroo finished the first set, though… He couldn’t quite believe that it was _him_ that wrote what was on the paper. The symbols were crude, sure, but dammit _he_ wrote that! His name. He felt invigorated, and held the brush tightly. He was going to _perfect_ writing this, fearing the slightest error in his brushstrokes would snap him awake to discover it was all a dream. Something so simple was so far out the scope of possibilities for him that the reality of his hand on the parchment didn’t feel real. 

Then again, Kuroo’s situation---Generals, the Carnivore Court, the goddamn _Emperor_ \---was simply out of a simple mercenary’s depth. The symbols seemed to muddle into unrecognizable shapes for a second before he took a deep breath and started over.

黒.  
尾. 

鉄.  
朗. 

The rest of the lesson was spent practicing these letters over and over and over. Kuroo had to admit: after years of his life spent swinging around heavy weapons, wielding something so small and delicate as a brush was difficult. More often than not, the minister had to remind him to slacken his grip lest he break the poor brush in half. Sometimes in his haste to perfect his own name he would blot ink over the parchment or over the table, and he would apologize, but Kozume-san told him to think nothing of it. Although Kuroo suspected this was more of indifference on his part than mercy, for all the minister did was read a book, occasionally sparing his horrible handwriting a glance. 

“Pft.” 

Hearing this, Kuroo’s head shot up; he was cross. “Well pardon this humble peasant for having terrible handwriting.” 

Realizing he had made a noise, Minister Kozume quickly turned his face and occupied himself with his book, earning a light chuckle from Kuroo. He could stand that sort of reaction from Kozume-san, knowing he wasn't a snob in secret. And if he were to be honest, the minister’s occasional skittishness had its charm.

Much of the lesson today was kept in silence. Kuroo toiled over his name, and by the time he was due for his weekly audience with the Emperor, there were papers stacked on the table with messy iterations of 黒尾 鉄朗, inkblots, and dashed-out attempts when he decided the characters looked too bad to salvage. Minister Kozume, on the other hand, had long finished his book and had settled for the next best activity: staring passively out the veranda. A breeze slipped between the open shoji screens, lifting the corners of his papers. Before Kuroo could prevent them from flying, the minister placed his hand on top. 

So he _was_ paying attention. To some extent. 

Finally, Kuroo’s handwriting reached a presentable state as indicated by Kozume-san’s soft hum. He slid a clear sheet of paper towards him and asked that he write his name thrice, and only then could he sign his contract. Kuroo did as asked, holding his breath as he steadied the brush over the parchment. An agonizing amount of time passed carefully writing, and finally he was done. Kozume-san gave him a brief rundown of the contract, and the numbers made his eyes _bulge_ out of their sockets. Every month, he was allowed a 1000 golden _mon_ * for things such as weapons, armor, and other necessities for his army. Moreover, he was granted 100 silver mon every _week_ for “miscellaneous” expenses (which his minister pointed out as “whatever he wanted”) and an annual bonus of 5000 golden mon to the Cats’ funding. He could barely wrap his head around it all. One month as a general paid as much as half a _good_ year’s work as war fodder. Kuroo was overjoyed yet conflicted, and Kozume-san raised a brow. 

With a deep breath, he signed the damn contract, and once finished he released such strong a sigh that tension throughout his body dissipated. So much so he broke _seiza,_ the proper way to sit, as Kita-sensei told him. 

Then pride, like a tiny seed that had been embedded in his heart, blossomed throughout his whole chest and a grin had cracked all over his face; and only then did he notice how knit his brows had been in his focus, how clenched his jaws had been. 

"To think I'd have the privilege of doing that."

\---

If there was a single word to describe the Imperial Gardens, it would be humongous. The scale of it alone could rival the whole territory of the Cats’ estate; sprawling and seemingly endless, a cultivated forest within walls. He could barely make out the white border walls in the distance as he squinted at the green horizon. Past that were more and more layers of defensive walls set up to protect the innermost parts of the Imperial Palace, reserved only for those of the highest social standing. 

And there Kuroo was, in the plainest of his plainclothes, escorting the masked Emperor as he fancied a walk through the garden. Emperor Oikawa’s mask was a gold wolf with teeth tipped in silver (or was it platinum?) A diamond was embedded right at its forehead, and the fine details of its fur engraved like wisps of flame. A fine mask of extravagance it was. They followed a stone path, leaving the grass and shrubbery undisturbed. A _toro_ lantern decorated the way every so often, and the winding road would eventually lead to an arched bridge, gilt and shining in the bright sun. Quite a privilege to see, and all that was asked of Kuroo was to hold a parasol over The Emperor and try not to roll his eyes whenever the royal prick gave some remark or flinch when the damn mask caught the sun, reflecting straight into Kuroo’s eyes.

“My, how polite of you, Kuro-chan~ Holding up a parasol for me, the Emperor! Looks like you _have_ learned some manners!” The emperor snickered. 

Annoyance twinged in Kuroo’s veins, so of course he couldn’t resist hitting back. “Why, I was merely worried his Majesty’s _oh-so-sensitive_ skin would burn in this harsh sunlight! We can’t have the emperor walking around like a giant tomato now, can we?”

Kuroo snorted at his own remark. He recalled that time when he and his company had been escorting the emperor weeks prior, and unable to handle the height of summer’s heat, the Emperor’s pale skin had turned bright pink, so much so that Kuroo made jokes about late-blooming cherry trees. Had it not been for the fact the Emperor disguised himself as a noble, Kuroo was certain he’d have been executed for such a slight. 

“Is something the matter, your Highness?” General Ushijima spoke from behind. His voice was clear and commanded authority, even when asking a simple question. His muzzle, a fearsome white eagle’s, shone like the sun; a silver with a deadly curved beak tipped in gold with all its feathers carved masterfully. It bore no jewelry, as Generals were not to dabble in such extravagance. He had been instructed to walk a few paces behind them, and Kuroo was certain had it not been for his Highness’ presence, General Ushijima would have skewered him with his spear. It was offensive to place a peasant before nobility, and no doubt the General was provoked.

“Not in the slightest, General Ushijima!” The emperor turned to him, the edge of his fan hiding the amusement on his lips. “I like to think of this as the process of taming a stray cat. Every once in a while, it’ll hiss.”

A vein twinged somewhere around Kuroo’s temple, but he held his tongue. Ironic as it was being the general for the Cats, Kuroo disliked being held akin to an animal that needed to be _tamed_ ; he disliked that smug look on the Emperor’s face, who knew his remark had left its impact. General Ushijima didn’t look all too pleased, either. However, Kuroo had reason to suspect this displeasure was not directed towards him but instead the Emperor, likely for his brazen manner. Quite un-Emperor of him. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be surprised if Emperor Oikawa found some glee in that outcome, too. To piss off both generals with a single sentence. He’s quite talented at it! 

As their walk progressed, Kuroo had the opportunity to view more of the garden. Unlike the Cats’ garden, this place had a more of a… deliberate and grand nature to it. The trees were tall and so bright and green, with their branches and leaves trimmed in spherical shapes contrasting the jagged and strange rock formations that jutted from the grass like thumbs. The lush scenery followed the wavy edges of a large pond, flecked by the gold, red, and white scales of the koi that swam lazily along. They continued in silence like this, with the Emperor observing with a strange focus in his eyes. Once they reached the bridge, he halted and placed a hand on the rail, taking in the full horizon. 

And then, the Emperor sighed. Disappointed for reasons unknown to Kuroo. “Such a shame, it is. That the whole world can’t be like this. Bountiful, beautiful, and splendid.” 

Kuroo couldn't argue with that. But at the same time, the Emperor--the most powerful man in the land--possessed the grandest garden and could do whatever he wanted. So what his Majesty said next had Kuroo blinking in befuddlement.

"I want to build a garden."  
\---

Later that day, Kuroo was set for another lesson with Kita Shinsuke. Kita-san (or _‘sensei’_ when class was ongoing) was one of the few people who unnerved Kuroo by doing nothing but exist. 

Kuroo once referred to Kita-san as “Mr. Perfect” to Kai and Yaku. Mr. Perfect never missed a day of class, was hardly late, and was never one to fall for Kuroo’s provocations. The first time they met, Kuroo assumed they were sending some high-nosed noble to teach him, already presuming he would be looked down upon. But that was his first mistake, for the tutor that arrived didn’t look particularly intimidating. Kita-san was dressed in plain clothes under the silken black haori of the Foxes and stood at a comfortable height below Kuroo’s. When he moved, he did so gracefully, without unnecessary movement. When he spoke, his voice was even and untempered, with a placid face lacking judgement or even a hint of surprise. In some ways Kuroo was reminded of his dear Minister and his typical unperturbed face, but their similarities ended there.

Kozume-san took liberties with his manners, whereas Kita-san did not. At certain moments Kuroo watched him just to see if there would ever be a slip in that formal facade, but by the end of the first class he was certain this man breathed, ate, drank, and perhaps even shat etiquette. Mr. Perfect was the real deal, and Kuroo respected that immensely, to the point where that perfection exerted a subtle pressure for him to act _properly,_ like a mother’s hand gripping their child’s shoulder a bit too tight. 

Which was partly the reason it unnerved Kuroo so. Coupled with the expectations on his shoulders to play the part of “General” as well as the other things he had to take mind of, classes with Kita-san felt like being dropped in a room full of eggshells after a long day. And this room he had to--- _wanted_ to tread without breaking a single eggshell. However, unaware of most forms of etiquette, he was basically treading this room with a blindfold on, and with every eggshell he steps on, he gets sent back to the beginning to try again. 

So not only was Mr. Perfect watching him, but the irritation from repeated failure bore down on his shoulders, heavy like lead weights. This wasn’t to say that Kita-san was a terrible teacher. Far from it; he was firm yet never harsh. He spoke with clear and blunt words that teetered on the edge of direct jabs. He was quick to assess where Kuroo’s failure came from, but never went so far as to actually insult him. This sucked for Kuroo because he didn’t even have the excuse of disliking Kita-san to replace that nervousness he felt from him. 

“Kuroo-san, your posture isn’t too good. You tend to slouch and it reflects in your sitting position.”

“Ah, yeah. Most doorways aren’t really built for my height,” Kuroo nodded, gesturing before his forehead---where most door frames tended to hit. As such, he developed a habit of slouching to avoid any more brain damage. 

“That won’t do,” Kita-san shook his head. “You’re a General now, so you should always stand tall and proud. As well as sit and everything else, of course.” 

“Easy for you to say…” Kuroo grumbled. 

“Left leg.” 

Kuroo shifted his sore left leg, which had strayed from the acceptable range of the seiza. He was far more comfortable sitting with crossed legs, and it wasn’t as though formal settings were a regularity for him. 

“I do admit I have over a decade of experience in etiquette compared to you. Regardless, your special circumstances require special effort. Don’t complain now.” 

Kuroo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Kita-san had a point. Still, he thought a lot of this etiquette stuff was bullshit. An incredible amount of mental work was required to shift one’s demeanor on the fly; to retain this “dignity” in the face of your greaters and lessers, treading carefully the line between each other’s positions and one’s objective. How to smile, what tone to use when speaking, _keigo_ , or the honorifics---using different sets of words to say such and such. 

Why couldn’t he just speak normally like he usually did? As long as anyone understood it, it shouldn’t matter _how_ he said it! 

“Kuroo-san, your face is saying ‘why can’t I just speak the way I like.’”

Kuroo resisted the urge to make a face. It wasn’t as fun when _he_ was at the opposing end of having his mind read. 

“That line of thinking is not wrong. It’s quite simple and straightforward, but it’s that simplicity that the Court looks down upon. Complexity is sophisticated, and sophistication is a must for those in power. Hence,”

“Hence, I’ll do my best,” Kuroo answered. “Though if I may ask, Kita-sensei...”

“You may.”

Quickly Kuroo thought of the most polite way to phrase his question. He ought to think of trying to be delicate with his words less as hurdles of socializing, but as practice. “Pardon me for noticing, but I’m hearing a slight Northern accent from you. I take it you aren’t from the Capital?” He paused and gauged that Kita wasn’t offended by his presumptions. “And I noticed your clothes and your… mannerisms aren’t typically of a noble’s. They have more ‘swagger’ to them, whereas you don’t.”

Kita-san nodded. “Correct. I hail from the North, and due to certain circumstances, I was relocated here to live with my grandmother.” 

A typical story. Kita was perhaps a child or a teenager when the war of Teeth and Talons happened; a bitter territorial dispute between the Wolves and the Eagles that spanned a decade and ended with heavy casualties. Hundreds of thousands of people fled south or outside the country to escape. Sending a kid all the way to the Capital was risky, but if all things went well their safety would be guaranteed. 

Kuroo could relate. Truly. Being sent off from one’s home towards a place that promised safety from all the fighting; leaving everything and everyone he held dear behind for that sliver of hope. How fortunate for Kita-san to have reached his destination in one piece. It was all too unfortunate however, that things didn’t go as well for Kuroo.

“Like you, I went through the stages of learning how to act properly. You’re quite keen on observations, Kuroo-san, far keener than my abilities for certain. What is left is practice and consistency, and soon etiquette shall become second nature.” 

Thus Kuroo decided he’ll sit and learn the tedium of courtly etiquette and all its ‘sophistications.’ After all, he’ll be playing the part of predator. A smile found its way on his face. “Alright, alright. I understand. I’ll do my best.”

And surprisingly, Kita smiled back. “Very well. Right leg. Straighten back.”

\---

Before he was permitted to return to his quarters, Kuroo had to report to his minister every evening after his lessons and other duties had been concluded. He stood in front of the shoji screens and announced his presence, waiting for the Kozume-san’s soft reply. 

“Come in.” 

Kuroo gently slid open the door like Kita-sensei had instructed him. _It should barely make a sound._ He stepped inside, and bowed. As usual, Kozume-san paid his etiquette little notice and nodded simply to acknowledge his presence. 

The minister’s office was, unsurprisingly, simple and to Kuroo’s tastes. A full tatami room, plain and simple. To his left was the Minister’s desk. It was a low table of dark sakura wood, backed by a lacquered _tansu_ cabinet, the step-like shelves bare except for a porcelain vase that held a single sakura stem at the top. A scroll hung from the wall just beside it, the calligraphy with bold and broad strokes of a character Kuroo didn’t recognize. Now that he knew the characters to his name, he was itching to know this one, too. He set that thought aside though and took a seat on the futon (obeying the seiza, of course). The Minister glanced at him, his silence granting Kuroo permission to speak. So he did, keeping the report of the relatively uneventful day brief.

“That’s about all I’ve done for today, dear Minister,” Kuroo said, bowing properly as Kita-san taught him. 

“I told you there’s no need for such formalities, General,” Kozume-san said, finding the sudden return of his manners odd. 

“Yes, however, I’ve been enlightened with the knowledge that practice and consistency would lead to good results. And so I’ve decided it’s vital for committing to my role.”

“Hard worker,” his Minister mumbled. He, on the contrary, was slouched in the way Kuroo wanted to, but he held his posture. _Mind your seiza,_ he told himself. 

As Kuroo attempted to pry his eyes away from his Minister’s shoulders, he noticed something odd to his usual tepid manner: some mixture between concern and agitation from the way his brows were slightly knit, his jaw was tense, and his lips formed a tight, pink line. Between Kozume-san’s fingers he held a parchment of paper that he turned over and stared down at like it was a bothersome thing he was deliberating on discarding. Kuroo could make out that it was a letter from the way the lamp from behind showed him the silhouettes of other characters unknown to him. 

“Is there something bothering you, dear Minister?” Kuroo asked. 

Kozume-san blinked and his eyes darted between Kuroo and the letter before dodging away from him. His mouth parted slightly, debating whether or not to tell and suddenly from Kuroo’s chest tugged the feeling that he _wanted,_ sorely, for Kozume-san to tell him. To help alleviate whatever it is. After a few moments, the minister closed his eyes and sighed. 

“An important person is visiting quite soon. The Cats’ one and only noble patron.” When he said this, his eyes darkened and the slender fingers that held the letter clenched, forming creases on the paper. 

“I take it he’s trouble.” Kuroo tenses up further. His mind was running with ideas of what kind of person Kozume-san would find ‘troublesome.’ Perhaps somebody loud and boisterous (General Bokuto sprang to mind), or perhaps somebody quite in-your-face about themselves (the Emperor, for example.) 

Kozume nodded and allowed himself a sigh. “He’s arriving in two weeks’ time from the Cats’ territory.” 

Kuroo remembered that. It was this embarrassingly small fleck of land (for a House to own, at least) stuck with sharing borders between much larger and more affluent Houses. The only reason it hadn’t been swallowed up was because majority of the territory was in mountain ranges; half of which were craggy spikes that were useless save for natural defenses. On a map, the Cats’ territory was the second-smallest, only beating the Crows’ meager specks by a small margin. 

“On such a short notice, he’s thrown quite a bit of work my way, which is troublesome to say in the least. Various papers clearing and verifying his entrance, and no doubt he wants…” Kozume halted as if a hand clapped itself over his mouth, realizing he had caught himself speaking far too much. “...I won’t bore you with further details.”

Kuroo waved his hand. “No, no. I didn’t mind at all. In fact I think it would serve us well if you were to open up more, dear Minister. I, for one, am now aware that in two weeks’ time I’ll have to showcase my learnings to our dear patron. As for you, I hope that airing out your concerns helped alleviate your stress a little.” He smiled. 

At this, the Minister glanced away again, but his expression had softened remarkably. He released the letter and it slipped past his fingers. “Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mon: A type of coin Japan used during the Muromachi period. It’s done in different styles, but the most common was a circular coin with a square hole in the middle, allowing people to thread string through for easier carrying. It was typically minted in copper, silver, and gold. (I used Wikipedia for this information, so please don't take it as 100% fact!)
> 
> \---
> 
> Hi, I know it's been a while but life caught up to me, and what was supposed to be a 1-month break turned into a 3-month break and I'm not really proud of that... But I think from now on, there should be more regular updates! (At least, I'm hoping;;) so I very much apologize for the delay in chapters!
> 
> With that being said, thank you guys so much for the support!! I never really expected the amount of chapters to hit more than 30 kudos as it was, but man, you guys just surprise me! And the comments are really encouraging! I know I don't have the best track record with responding, but trust me when I say I read and love every single comment on this fic! Once again, thank you so much for the support!! You guys are integral for motivating me to keep working on the story! 
> 
> Last, but not the least! My beta readers/editors, who are so very meticulous and helpful with my grammatical errors and other details! Please check them out on twitter! [Nation](https://twitter.com/itsNationJoy), [Christy](https://twitter.com/kodzukuro), and [Neens](https://twitter.com/neenswrites)! 
> 
> I am also a twitter account owner, and if you want to see more kuroken on the tl, follow me at , [Danmujiji](https://twitter.com/danmujiji)!


	5. Worm-Eaten Core*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cats are thrown into disarray welcoming their noble benefactor. Kenma is the most disturbed of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As denoted by the asterisk next to the title, this chapter contains some triggering content, particularly descriptions of anxiety attacks, physical abuse, and sexual assault. The portions with the sexual assault is marked by three asterisks (***) and can be skipped by pressing CTRL+F and typing in '***'. 
> 
> Again, tw: sexual assault, physical abuse, anxiety attacks.

The Cats fancied themselves a rather slow-acting House, afforded partly by their relative inconsequence upon the grander affairs of the Capital. Of course, they were careful not to tread on laziness or inefficiency, but the nobles found that an easy way to dissuade peasants from making complaints was to make the process slow, tedious, and miserable: filling out forms, lining up in a crowded, hot room, taking up a day’s wage worth of time. Administrative haste was reserved for those who could pay for it, after all. Swift where it mattered and untouched by the state’s larger politics, rarely was there a reason for the Cats’ estate to be thrown in disarray. 

With the exception of Okumura Katashi’s arrival, their lone noble benefactor. 

From the crack of dawn, the estate had been buzzing with activity. _Fusuma_ and _shoji_ screens were flung open, inviting a fresh breeze inside the estate. Every corner of the rooms---already free of dust from the servants’ daily cleaning---were not spared from Kaneko-san’s eyes as she meticulously combed through each room of dirt, any specks of dust. Vases were washed and replaced, and new flower arrangements were ordered to come in later that day to brighten up the place. They even considered renewing the print of their fusuma screens’ designs to mountainous prints for Okumura-sama’s liking. 

Petty and unnecessary was what Kenma thought of these changes. What’s more, was that all the additional work had been piled onto him. Receipts and tabs made under the Cats’ name for such and such and such, to prepare for _his_ arrival, of all things. But of course, no noble would be received in squalor. All he could do was sigh and deal with it, as with the rest of his work. The most pressing matters were already laid atop his desk: queries from the Snakes petitioning to lower their export taxes on this month’s shipment of ores, given the turmoils down south. It came attached with a seal of endorsement from Minister Miya, hence the “urgency” of the matter. _Typical of that Fox to do as he pleased._ Kenma stamped his seal and moved on, only for Kaneko-san to arrive with yet another scroll cylinder. This one was gold, carved with leaf-like motifs with a tasset of deep red hanging from one end.

A letter from Okumura-sama. 

A stone plummeted into Kenma’s stomach. He unfurled it gingerly, careful not to damage the paper as though it would lash out and bite him if it were so much as creased.

_To the new Minister,_

_First and foremost, I must congratulate you on your darling achievement. Succeeding the deceased is not an easy task, but nevertheless I shall keep taking heed of the former Minister’s grand expectations of you. Hopefully you have matured into a proper young man since your absence from Okumura, and I for one, am eager to witness this._

_As I draw closer to the Capital, I’ve come across some interesting information on the status of the Cats, the most intriguing being the new figurehead of the House. Despite the previous Minister’s awfully valiant sacrifice, undoubtedly we have been granted a most curious circumstance regarding the General’s status. Or lack thereof._

_I am not disappointed, Minister. Not in the slightest! However I must bequeath to you duties that the previous one had failed at, and that is to further strengthen The Okumuras’ influence within the Capital. I ascertain the General’s loyalties lie elsewhere from ours, and we were but given his leash as consolatory ornament. Nevertheless, the Cats would be well within their right to ‘direct’ our General’s attention towards our necessities._

_You are a most terribly, terribly intelligent child but one to cut corners when up to task. We cannot dally any further given the uncertainties of the current governance, and so I am informing you that I am extending my stay to a fortnight. Under this duration you are to use the General to increase the Okumura’s prospects. Elsewise, the Capital may find itself lacking a Minister, and Okumura with an abundance._

_Eagerly, I await what will become of you._

Kenma’s fingers turned numb with cold, and the feeling advanced throughout the rest of his body, shrinking his pulse. He clutched at his skin, pulling his sleeves over the painful breakout of goosebumps. Suddenly his mouth was dry and swallowing was painful, as though the air itself was choking him. The letter crumpled by accident in his hands, and he was overcome with a jolt of panic as he attempted to smooth it over uselessly, fearful of any watchful eyes. 

He _knew_ he was safe here; he _knew_ it was unlike him, this irrationality, but despite all the years he had spent away from the damned Okumura house, some reactions had been hammered so deeply into his very core that without meaning to he began reciting a mantra from his childhood. 

_Be quiet. Be still. Say anything. Show nothing._

Over and over until the feeling subsided and he felt as though a great burden had been swept away from him by the cool breeze of the morning. The shame. The humiliation. The cold. All of it, carried out to the veranda, the verdant green beyond the shoji. 

\---

Again, Kuroo-san was looking at Kenma strangely. Each time the general finished a set of _hiragana,_ concern came intandem with his look of “is this correct?” Kenma was reminded of their conversation prior, on opening up and relieving stress. But with the coming arrival of Okumura-sama, and the letter’s contents bearing down on him, Kenma doubted there was anything Kuroo-san could say that could assuage him. 

Although he did… find it favorable how Kuroo-san never truly pressed him to reveal his feelings. Rather, those looks were a silent invitation being offered without the worry of it being taken away. Recently, he had been accepting these invitations---with utmost caution on his end, never over-extending his welcome by speaking more than he had to. He voiced out the most minor of his complaints: the frequent unnecessary changes around the house; the noise of redecorating, of people coming in and out, and of the additional work that had been handed to him. 

“If I may speak plainly,” said Kuroo-san.

“Plainly is the only way you’ve spoken thus far,” Kenma mumbled to him, with a flicker of amusement in his voice that neither of them were prepared for.

A pause, before Kuroo-san’s tone of mischief returned. “This… benefactor person. Okumura-sama, yeah? He sounds like a handful.” 

Kenma wanted to tell him, _’you can say bastard’_ and it appeared a simple raise of his brow got that across. Kuroo-san chortled, declining politely for the moment. He had been attempting to add more ‘flourish’ to his speech when speaking in the presence of nobles. 

Politeness, he meant. 

“Observe the upheaval his coming arrival’s doing to the house.” 

Kuroo-san snorted. “Pardon me dear Minister, but this is hardly upheaval. Upheaval’s when there’s an ambush at night, men and tents are on fire, and your stomach decides to copy this through last night’s rations ambushing and setting your asshole on fire.” 

“Personal experience?” 

“Of course not!” He puffed up his chest with a playful tone of pride. “Maybe that’s why my parents named me ‘iron’ - for my stomach, hah! You’d be surprised at how often it happens on campaigns, though. A few buddies of mine have more specific details, if you want. Oh, don’t go wrinkling your nose like that, it’s just a funny story!”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Do you have other _funny_ stories, General?” 

“I’ve got no shortage of stories, dear Minister. All types, all colors, and all yours.” 

Certainly a welcome break from what had been swirling at the back of Kenma’s mind. He nodded. “Tell me an interesting one.” 

“Interesting, hmm?” Kuroo-san rubbed his chin in thought, contemplating the ceiling like he had stashed the words in the rafters. “Ah! This one… The time I was nearly executed over a beetle.” 

The story began with the Iron Company escorting a noble through some mountains up north. Said noble was the prissy sort who could find complaint in _everything._ Unfortunately, it was a scorching day and their carriages got stuck on a muddy trail, pausing their travel in the middle of wilderness. Unsurprisingly, the “prissy-ass” noble guy made a fuss about it, telling them to hurry up before he sweated out his blue blood in this weather. 

Eventually, boredom took hold of this nobleman and he complained to Kuroo about it. The look of relief on his men’s faces when he agreed to take the nobleman out to “see nature” was hysterical. 

“Yakkun told me, ‘Hey, if you’re going to do him in, there should be a creek down south that you can use. I’ll set fire to their carriages if you come back alone.’”

Kenma snorted, and Kuroo-san took this as a good sign to keep going. The more Kuroo-san spoke, the more he shed his formalities until he spoke with that casual candor of his. His seiza slackened, and he gestured and joked more, big and calloused hands telling stories with fluidity.

Kuroo-san and the nobleman eventually wandered out far enough for the complaining to start again. First over the dreadful heat, then the bugs, the horrid shrieking of animals, his sweating, all the _itchy grass_ , and finally… 

“The bastard tells me he’s hungry!” the general scoffed, “While we’re balls-deep inside of Mount Nowhere. I didn’t bring any bows, nor a flint. Just a knife and my weapon, and to be honest dear Minister, I came very, _very_ close to bringing him to that creek. And not for fish, mind you.”

This nobleman’s complaining was _endless_ and won Kuroo-san no favors as the mercenary captain tried and failed to hunt. He refused to eat berries or “unsightly fruit,” and it wasn’t long before the sweltering heat and all the yammering got to Kuroo-san and he had snapped at the noble. 

“I told the rich son of a bitch, ‘If I can shit out yesterday’s dinner and serve it to you on a ceramic plate, I’d do so in a heartbeat, but unfortunately you’re going to have to settle for this.’ So I took this beetle off a tree and showed it to him and let me tell you, I’ve never heard a scream so loud and so _high-pitched_. It’s like he swallowed a goddamn _shakuhachi_ flute!” Kuroo-san doubled over in loud and unabashed barks of laughter booming from his muzzle. 

Kenma found that he had been leaning towards Kuroo-san the longer he spoke for. Furthermore he caught himself in the middle of a light chuckle alongside his, a soft _fufu_ escaping his lips. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. It was then that he decided he had overstayed his welcome in Kuroo-san’s cordiality. “You said it would be an interesting story.” 

Kuroo-san similarly straightened himself and let out a puff of satisfied breath. “I wasn’t finished, dear Minister! Here’s the important bit: his guards came posthaste and I got manhandled after that. ‘Course, the noble wasn’t about to have the guy who saved his life executed, so after we talked things over, he said the matter would be dealt with at the Capital.”

“Oh.” 

“ _Oh_ is an understatement, dear Minister! You can imagine my face when I discovered the ‘rich son of a bitch’ I had been escorting for two weeks wasn’t just rich, but _the Imperial_ son of a bitch.” 

“And you lived to tell the tale.”

“I _am_ living, let me tell you.” The lopsided lift in his cheeks told Kenma of a satisfying grin underneath his muzzle. “And that is the story of how I was nearly executed over a beetle.” 

“That wasn’t interesting, that was merely humorous.” He said, withholding a snort of amusement. 

“Whaaat? You didn’t even think the little twist was worth some interest? Pah, you’re a tough nut to crack.” 

“Next time, I want an interesting story.”

“Next time, huh?” That lopsided grin of his again. Kuroo-san seemed to relish in this sort of attention Kenma gave him. 

“Back to work, General. You’ve dawdled long enough.” Kenma tapped the unfinished sets of hiragana practice. 

“Sir yes sir.” 

\---

Though his hours with Kuroo-san were a brief respite, the rest of Kenma’sdays were spent in ever-increasing anxiety that gnawed on his very being. Mornings were spent in resentment over waking up; the afternoons he spent longing for some horrible disaster to befall on the route between Okumura and the Capital, and the evenings he spent with a sinking in his chest like stone cast into the ocean. In the dead of night, he wished for his own murder, and the morning after he’d begin the cycle of dread anew. He spoke little, and ate even less.

The night before Okumura-sama’s arrival, he came very close to plotting treason. The combination of the painful twists in his chest and stomach had him stooping low enough to consider such a futile act. All suspicion would fall to him, and without a noble backing, the Cats may as well dissolve. He was still awake when Kaneko-san was to rouse him, the thought having long gone escaped into the night, and mindlessly he shambled from the baths to getting dressed to easing in a few mouthfuls of breakfast down his throat. He barely registered the estate and its inhabitants’ final scramble for orderliness, nor the General’s arrival.

They all heard the steady clip-clop of horses hooves upon the stone paths, followed by the rattle of two carriages in close procession. Okumura-sama’s carriages were like lacquered boxes balanced on one set of large wheels, golden filigree gleaming over the deep red paint, all coated in a shiny varnish. _Sudare_ screens down the sides hid the passenger from view, but the slatted bamboo provided them the opportunity to peer outside. Kenma’s blood chilled as he noticed a slight gap in screen, one held down by a single pale finger poised as if pointing directly at him. 

At once, everyone bowed. Kenma at the forefront, the General beside him, and the rest of the servants. His mask felt heavy; the strings gripped his skull and suddenly breathing was laborious. His pulse quickened and he could barely push out his greeting. 

“W-we humbly welcome you to the Cats’ estate, Okumura-sama.”

Kenma didn’t dare look up until he was told. His ears were trained on the creak of wood as Okumura-sama made his descent from the carriage. Every step of his was a dreadful confirmation of his intent, and Kenma bit down on his lips as the edge of his dark red robes came to view from above. Not a second later, Okumura-sama’s familiar hand came to rest on top of Kenma’s head. He rubbed delicate circles there, slender fingers ghosting over Kenma’s nape, and the young minister fought back a shudder. 

“Raise your head.” 

Kenma did. The rest followed in unison. 

Time was not kind to Okumura-sama. Though he was only in his forties, lines of age showed deep like cracks on a once-charming vase. His hair had thinned considerably at the sides of his head, where a wiry topknot was tied to save him some dignity. He bore a smile on his face, cheeks strained upwards until his black eyes were but thin crescents that melded in with his crow’s feet. But Kenma knew full well this man was anything but such a weak and wily animal. He was poised like a hawk surveying his prey, chest puffed out with such stiffness it looked like felt as if somebody had kicked in the curve of his spine. As he moved, his robes flowed and shimmered with the finest silks. He brought his hands down to Kenma’s shoulders, squeezing and kneading in circles, and as he smiled his hole of a mouth showed off the full set of his teeth. Kenma’s breath was as still as his body.

“Ahh, Kozume-kun. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. It has.” Kenma swallowed. Hearing his surname from Okumura-sama after so long pulled out an unpleasant feeling from the depths of his core. 

“And this must be our General.” He spoke as if he had just noticed Kuroo-san’s presence. “You look like quite an experienced fellow. I take it the House has been kind to you. Tell me your name.” Okumura-sama smiled again, his eyes further receding into the lines of his face. 

“Kuroo Tetsurou, at your service,” the general bowed, “And yes, Okumura-sama, the Cats have been hospitable to me.”

The twinge in the noble’s eyes did not escape Kenma. Kuroo-san was wearing those new robes from the tailors. Yet clothing alone does not make a noble, and Okumura-sama knew that. The nobleman clapped his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention. To Kenma, it was a half-hearted attempt to bring cheer to the rather solemn Cats. “Well then! Let’s have lunch, shall we? Kaneko-san, I’ve been told the Cats’ seafood is unrivaled…” 

The rest of the conversation was drowned out by Kenma’s thoughts of retreating to his room. Only when Kuroo-san tapped him (as a reassuring gesture, he supposed) on the shoulder did everything return to focus from a blur. 

Lunch proceeded in the dining hall. Typically, fusuma screens were opened up in one direction to expand the hall up to five times its length, but given the small number of the participants (Okumura-sama, Kenma, and Kuroo-san exclusively) they were limited to one _washitsu_ room. A short table of dark oak contrasted against the golden tatami, and adjacent to its sides were silken _zabuton_ , bright red and newly-purchased for the esteemed guest. They threw a fuss over these cushions, only to have it stained by scum on its first use. 

There were due seating positions, of course. Okumura-sama headed the table, Kenma on his right, and Kuroo-san at the end, where the nobleman designated him to sit. Though Kenma was aware Kuroo-san and Kita-sensei had not yet broached the subject of table etiquette, it was obvious the General was given the lowest position furthest away from the nobleman. 

“Now I must say,” Okumura-sama spoke to Kenma suddenly, touching his own chest while feigning shock, “that I must accustom myself to seeing you with the mask. Of course, I knew it was inevitable, but certainly not with the previous Minister’s untimely passing.”

Kenma swallowed hard. “It’s unfortunate.”

“Yes, truly.” However, the nobleman’s tone didn’t reflect a single scrap of remorse. Flippant, even. “And the General was there, correct?” 

Kuroo-san glanced quickly at Kenma first before speaking. “That is correct, Okumura-sama.”

“Please, do share. I’d like to know what happened in his final moments.”

This was something Kenma never had the guts to ask his general. He shifted his feet slightly in an attempt to disguise his curiosity.

Again, that glance from Kuroo-san. As if silently requesting confirmation from Kenma before anything. Kenma nodded slightly, and so the General spoke. 

He explained that it happened while crossing the border between the Wolves’ and the Eagles’ territory en route to the Capital, which owed its protection to the mountainous region there. 

That much, Kenma knew. The specifics, on the other hand - not so much. Or perhaps he didn’t _want_ to know. Perhaps he preferred Nekomata’s death to be like a myth in his head: a story of epic struggle and purpose; so far-flung from the present he couldn’t consider it to be reality. 

But reality was there, and Kuroo-san witnessed it. 

Apparently, the night they were exiting the mountains, the Emperors’ men had intercepted a message that assassins had been planted on the path to slay the Emperor. Nekomata had proposed switching the carriages, with him riding the Emperor’s route, and the Emperor travelling a more covert path. 

Fortunately, his plan worked. 

Kenma knew this, too. The Emperor had said as much. 

What was worse was the _ferocity_ of the attack. 

“They came out in droves from the darkness,” Kuroo-san explained, “Even if we were prepared to intercept them, they had the lay of the land and the cover of night to their advantage. Not too long after, flaming arrows were shot from outside the perimeter. Men, horses, carriages all caught fire, and the bastards came in and charged us. 

“There were two groups: the first went for the Emperor’s guard. Swift dispatch. The second group engaged with the rest of us to keep us distracted. The whole thing was over and done with in only a handful of minutes. Professionals, no doubt. I’ve survived plenty of battlefields Okumura-sama, but the way those people attacked and cut my men down… Those were no hirelings.” 

Okumura-sama held his breath, his posture rigid. “Your story carries implications, General.” 

Kuroo-san nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware that politics are out of my field. However I’m certain all of us know the Emperor’s rule is… delicate, at the moment.” 

“Indeed it is.” 

“Nekomata-sama gave his life to protect it, and I am certain he did so for good reasons.” 

Food came shortly after that, though Kenma was in no mood to eat. Fresh and bright slices of fish cut in perfect little slabs, topped with orange roe arranged into a hill over ice. Steamed crabs bound in twine, their thick long legs splayed and open to display the delectable meat. Bowls of _somen_ noodles swimming with ice, with their sauce and toppings served beside. There were other soups, fragrant and steaming, filling the senses with savory aromas; entrees of other meats and vegetables, and lastly the large hinoki _hangiri_ of rice accompanied by Kaneko-san, their designated server. 

Using the finest of their porcelain that the Snakes had imported from the South paid off. The Cats were never particularly shy of receiving payment in kind, though Kenma himself never cared for the wares. It was merely custom, and he had no power to refuse. 

Kenma noticed Kuroo-san’s eyes go wide at the sight of it all. Against the earth-colored glazed plates and tea sets, the colors of this feast all the more popped out and grabbed at the senses, pulling them in to eat. He felt in his stomach the pit of acid eating away inside of him; his mouth-watering, body enticed by the food whereas his mind was of a differing opinion. Eating became a strange clash of his bodily necessities and the presence of Okumura-sama: _It’s delicious. It’s disgusting. I want this. I don’t want this. More. No more. Stay. Leave._

“Minister Kozume, you’ve barely touched your food,” Okumura-sama said, sounding concerned. He instructed Kaneko-san to add more rice to his bowl. Kaneko-san may as well have piled more bile inside Kenma’s stomach with the _shamoji._

“Thank you for your concern, Okumura-sama,” he mumbled, bowing his head. He racked his brain for an excuse, only for Okumura-sama to interject. 

“Feeling ill again? My, how commonplace. It appears as though each visit of mine has you afflicted with some form of illness. Do watch out for yourself, will you? Hm?”

Okumura-sama’s crescent smile was a threat. Without Nekomata-san to occupy his attentions, they fell entirely onto Kenma, and it was painfully clear to the both of them how often and how _ineffective_ his “feints” were. 

How Kenma would love for every bout of illness Okumura-sama brought about to be ungenuine. 

“Yes, Okumura-sama.”

“Now eat up, Minister! We must have you in good health. After all, you had always been a very sickly boy.” 

\---

Kenma was granted respite after that. With their bellies full, Okumura-sama and Kuroo-san were free to pursue their other duties. The nobleman was off to do business in the Capital, whilst Kuroo-san had to administer training drills for his men. Under Okumura-sama’s watchful eye, Kenma’s stomach was straining after forcing himself to eat every single bite and so his sole duty now was to find someplace to egest it all.

Shaky and with a bitter taste in his mouth, he was once again listless and inefficient inside his office, with dread and the bile in his throat as companions. 

While sitting there in his misery, a familiar thought crossed his mind. He tried not to think about it given the futility of the matter, but plots to dispose of Okumura-sama began filling his head. He imagined the old man choking on poison, assassinated in his bed, or hell, beaten to death in the streets. All of these were simply self-satisfying, but in truth, things weren't so simple. 

Okumura Katashi wasn’t the head of the Okumura Clan. His father, Okumura Fumihiro, had been bedridden with an illness for a few years now, and so his son had stepped up to take over in his stead. Katashi dying would mean Fumihiro’s eventual death, and therefore the dissolution of the Clan. This would mean the Cats would lose their sole noble patrons, and it would mark their eventual downfall as well. Furthermore, if Katashi died in the Capital, the Okumuras would suspect Kenma and investigate. All the means of quiet disposal Kenma had were given to him by the wretched Clan. The Fukunagas, for instance, a small clan of covert operatives the Okumuras had always relied on to maintain their rule on the mountains, quelling even a murmur of opposition before it began. The heir, Fukunaga Shouhei was sent to accompany Kenma as he learned under Nekomata, but they both knew Fukunaga was there as surveillance on Kenma. 

If he had any means to usurp the Clan without consequence to the Cats, he would grab it to the point of throttling its neck. The world was simply unfair like that. 

For now, Kenma simply grit his teeth and bore it, as with everything. 

There were more pressing concerns, such as the task Okumura-sama had assigned to him previously with the letter: increasing his family’s influence. In seldom moments of peace or focus from his anxiety, he found time to think about why Nekomata did his best to avoid success: the Okumuras were hungry for power and clung to it with such desperation, like the claws of an animal sinking in flesh. They would bleed a town dry if it meant staying on top, hissing and snarling at anyone who dared threaten their status. Confined to the mountains of the province, they were hardly a threat to anyone, save for their own territories, but if they were to expand… 

With a heavy sigh, Kenma took a sheet of parchment and began to write to Minister Akaashi.

\---

Okumura-sama returned in a dour mood.

Nobles were fickle beings, but Capital nobles were of a different breed. Most of them would refuse an audience with a provincial clan leader, even moreso a clan as obscure as the Okumuras. The Capital simply wasn’t a place where Okumura-sama could use his power as leverage when even the lowest of Capital nobility was leagues above his own status. 

For this he blamed Kenma for not having used his position as Minister to do a single thing about the Okumuras. According to him, Minister Kozume could have improved trade relations or wheedled some other upcoming nobles into allegiance. But no. Minister Kozume was lazy and incompetent, and a string of harsher words hissed through grit teeth. Kenma held his breath throughout the barrage of insults, his body stiff and bracing itself for impact at any moment, even though he knew Okumura-sama wouldn’t. Yet. 

For his failures, Kenma was denied dinner. He respectfully declined to Kaneko-san, opting to “finish his work”. Okumura-sama smiled in a way that turned his eyes and mouth into dark crescents---they both knew it was a lie. Not even the cover of the mask could help, and when Okumura-sama departed to eat, Kenma’s chest was close to bursting out of his skin. He retreated to his room, afflicted with a shaking so severe he wobbled to his knees and could barely see the ground beneath him. 

Kenma knew he was going to be punished. 

Bile rose to his throat again, but there was nothing to egest, and so he choked it down and removed his mask. He attempted to calm his breaths with slow, rhythmic inhales like the way Nekomata had taught him. He pressed a thumb to his wrist, imagining a droplet of water dropping into dark still water, and attempted to breathe… Breathe… Pressing on the vein to the slow rhythm of the droplet. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

When his pulse had slowed to a faint and gentle tap against his thumb, he realized his mind had drifted to Kuroo-san tapping his shoulder from earlier, and suddenly he could release his breath and slacken his body. It was peculiar, but it worked, and that was all that mattered.

Calmed, he set about some preparations. 

It would be an hour before his heart returned to that state of chaos like an animal beating against its cage, rattling his body and all he could do was let the tumult take over as Okumura-sama slid open the doors to his bedchambers. 

Okumura-sama carried nothing but a single candle on an iron holder. The light flickered in the dark, illuminating his cracked mask of a face. He was no longer smiling; his lips were a firm line and already Kenma’s body began seizing up. He bowed down, lowering his forehead to the tatami. 

“O-Okumura-sama,” he spoke, voice shaky. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes were glued to the floor, and the weaving of the tatami became a dark blur from his quaking vision. 

“You good for nothing brat!” Okumura-sama roared. 

His foot jabbed into Kenma’s ribs, and he toppled to the side, curling into a tight ball. It hurt and knocked all the wind out of his chest. He couldn’t even scream, only managing a wheeze of pain that choked up his throat, but even if he wanted to he simply grit his teeth and bore it. 

It should be over soon. Okumura-sama preferred his outbursts within the confines of the Clan’s manor, fully under their scrutiny. He couldn’t afford gossip in the Capital. 

“Useless! Impotent little---” Okumura-sama hissed in a breath, and let out a shuddering exhale. “Hah… Hah... What will I ever do about you?” The man wheezed as he exerted his anger, and his outbursts tended to be quick with a violence like the pop of oil in a hot pan; pain that lasted a half-second, but pain nonetheless. 

Kenma stayed on the floor. His ribs were still hurting, but didn’t seem broken. That was good. He and Okumura-sama could pretend they were fine tomorrow. 

“Fo-forgive my… incompetence,” he murmured through the pain without letting even a twinge of it show on his face. Staring blankly at the darkest corners of the room, he could almost pass for a doll, limp and forlorn. 

_Be quiet. Be still. Say anything. Show nothing._

He followed this perfectly. It was his best and only response to Okumura-sama. 

It worked, and the nobleman settled down, panting hard. Sweat dripped down his neck, and Kenma predicted soon enough he would be in need of disrobement. No sooner had he thought that did Okumura-sama spread his arms. 

“Attend to me.” 

***  
Kenma didn’t want to do it. He had never wanted to do it. But because he was helpless against Okumura-sama’s command, he did it anyway. He crawled towards Okumura-sama (the way that bastard liked it) and all the humiliation bore down on him; a burden, and on all fours he barely felt human himself. Then he stopped before Okumura-sama’s feet and rose to his knees, faced with the front of his hakama. And as Kenma undid the _haori himo_ with ease, the turmoil of his anxiety stilled to a calm as he slipped back into the twisted familiarity of his actions. With a simple shrug of Okumura-sama’s shoulders the overcoat fell in a heap around him. Next, the hakama. The obi was wound in a complicated manner in and out of the garment, and on his knees it would be difficult.

“Faster,” Okumura-sama growled, “or have you forgotten everything my family has taught you?” 

The hot prickle of shame occupied Kenma’s face, his throat, and may spewed from his mouth had he not literally held his tongue tight between his teeth. The longer he dallied, the longer he could prolong what’s to happen, but the sooner he worked, the sooner he’d be bringing himself to his own doom.

Okumura-sama’s glare informed his decision. Kenma worked through the obi’s knots and twists briskly until the whole hakama fell around his ankles and he stepped past it. His kimono slipped open to expose his front. The loincloth imposed upon Kenma’s face. A slender hand touched Kenma’s head, the fingers slipping through locks of his hair and tightening into a fierce grip that shoved his face into Okumura-sama’s groin, like it was some cleaning rag. Kenma held his breath and his heart made its familiar protests to his lungs.

This was how Okumura-sama liked to ponder upon his nightly activities. He hummed in deliberation, though it was something close to a growl of temper as he used Kenma’s face to rouse himself into that same goddamn decision. His length hardened and pressed against Kenma’s cheek, and between that and the pain nipping at his scalp, Kenma chose to focus on the latter. 

“Service me, you ingrate,” Okumura-sama growled. He was straining against the fabric where a wet spot had already formed. Kenma’s mouth turned bitter as he made short work of then _fundoshi._ Okumura-sama sighed as he was released and Kenma’s stomach turned, full of acid eating him from within. 

Kenma took the length in his mouth and prayed the bile stay where it was meant to; prayed the brisk rhythm he adopted would lull his focus back into the idle, mindless routine. To lose the feeling in his mouth and at the back of his throat, and the reviling taste it would leave in his mouth in the morning. 

Okumura-sama shuddered, his hold on Kenma’s head relaxing, and he shifted his legs to loosen them up. “That’s a good boy…” he breathed. 

Kenma gripped his fists into a tight ball, lest he bite down. And they had done this often enough that Kenma developed an instinct for the nobleman’s tells. Okumura-sama was getting close, and his length had begun to twitch like a dying animal in Kenma’s mouth, it and its fluids leaking out and trickling down, down, where Kenma could only gag and swallow. 

Kenma wasn’t a child anymore, so when Okumura-sama suddenly yanked his head forward he didn’t make a sound. He didn’t even struggle. He choked, but he knew Okumura-sama liked that, so he sold the act by swallowing, his throat tightening around the damn thing, pumping him of his bitterness and rancour. 

“ _Good boy. Good, good boy._ ” Okumura-sama exhaled, shuddering in his mouth. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? So quiet. So obedient.” 

Words like those no longer meant anything to Kenma. They did once, in the past, when he didn’t know any better. Or perhaps he just knew things weren’t going to get better so he held onto what little “good” he could get.

Okumura-sama had always showered him with praise at Kenma’s least favorite part, where he ground his hips as if intending to choke out some more reaction out of Kenma, some sound of acceptance, and he did this until Kenma could no longer breathe. Choking for air was not something Kenma could fake as easily, so when he was eventually released---or flung away, rather---his coughing and sputtering were genuine, and each heave of breath renewed the taste of the slimy film inside his mouth.

The first half was over. 

“On your stomach. Naked.” Okumura-sama pointed at his futon. 

Kenma obeyed. He rose to his feet, wobbly and with an ache in his knees, and walked to the futon where one by one he shed his clothing. He worked briskly, not wanting to elicit anything more from Okumura-sama’s lust. He left his clothes in a crumpled heap and positioned himself like a plank of driftwood on the futon. He kept his eyes open, eyelashes touching the sheets and his hair shifting, framing his ears and his face, scattered all over his arms and his back like a dark curtain that covered everything else but his ass. 

Okumura-sama, not one to dwell too long (unlike his father) touched his thighs and pushed them apart. Kenma shifted to raise his ass up, the space between his shoulders firmly pressed down by a smooth palm. 

“Prepared yourself, haven’t you?” Okumura-sama chuckled, prodding his finger inside. One, and then two, barely scissoring before he took them out with a flick of his wrist and held Kenma’s hips with both of his hands. 

Kenma held his breath, the grunt in his throat dying but not without a fight as he let out a shaky breath. This was followed by a harsh crack of Okumura-sama’s palm against his cheeks. He flinched, trembled, then nodded, silently promising not to make noise. As Okumura-sama’s length slid further inside, this became harder to fulfill. 

The more he grunted, the more Okumura-sama was intent to drive it all deep inside, and all the more his body responded by turning taut. By the time it was hilted, Kenma felt on the verge of snapping, even with all his preparations; even when he had bitten his lips raw. Then, Okumura-sama began thrusting and Kenma gripped the sheets tight, teeth clenched.

“I had suspected your body would undergo the usual changes of maturity,” Okumura-sama heaved with effort, “Regardless, this is quite pleasant. I reckon you haven’t bedded anyone else?” 

Kenma shook his head. His pulse was throbbing in his neck and his cheeks flushed. 

“Not even the General?”

“N...no.” 

Kenma regretted saying that. Okumura-sama preferred his conversations one-sided, and he tensed up considerably, eliciting a grunt from Okumura-sama, expecting some physical rebuke. Instead he chuckled, and Kenma almost dared to look back. 

“I do applaud your loyalty, Kozume-kun. However, you’re a grown man, and it certainly comes with its advantages. I doubt it would be difficult for you to bed simpletons like that General of ours. Why, you seduced father after all.”

Kenma’s face flared. In another time he would have felt guilt, and shame, and he would have felt as if he owed the Okumuras his life and servitude as reparations for his “seduction”. But as Nekomata had told him before, _If inconspicuously walking down the street could be considered seduction, then that makes me Capital’s biggest seducer._

Nekomata’s words did not, however, remove the reality of his circumstances. That he was, in essence, the Okumura Clan’s leverage into power. That is how Nekomata convinced the Okumuras to relinquish Kenma to his care, and that is how they intend to use him.

“I…” Kenma bit back his protest and nodded. 

“Marvelous. Now! As a reward for your good behavior…” 

With a few thrusts, Okumura-sama groaned and emptied himself inside of Kenma. Kenma shivered, felt his mouth turned bitter and slimy, and turned limp over the futon, breathing hard. 

***

“Remember, you deserve this.” 

Kenma’s reply was automatic. Learned. “I deserve this, Okumura-sama.” 

“My, what a good boy. That’s all you are, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Okumura-sama.” 

“Minister or not. That is all you are, and all you will ever be. Don’t forget your place.”

Eventually Okumura-sama would depart his quarters, and soon after Kenma managed to haul himself to sit upright, willing himself to ignore what vileness spilled from him. He grabbed his haori and wrapped it around his naked form, feeling sickened to his very core. The night was cold, with only the faint trill of crickets accompanying him. He was filthy and his futon didn’t fare any better. He could only flip it over and curl into a ball over the spots he felt were the cleanest. 

Kenma had survived the panic, he had survived the humiliation, and now he was only left with the burn of anger---at Okumura-sama, at Nekomata’s permanent absence, and most of all, towards himself. He stewed in his uselessness and attacked his own skin with his nails like he wanted to tear his flesh apart and emerge as something new. Like a monster that can’t be touched, or simply… dead. Either which was revolting as it was twistedly attractive to become. And at the thought of this, Kenma suddenly felt like he was fifteen again. 

Cold, alone, aching, and miserable. 

At least it was over now. 

\---

“I suppose with this we can move onto kanji,” said Kenma, setting aside Kuroo-san’s hiragana paper. As with the previous lessons, Kuroo-san had picked up hiragana as easily as he would a weapon. 

Of course, Kenma had little to no experience with weapons directly, but he thought the comparison was apt enough. 

Kuroo-san sighed. “Time for more complicated stroke orders,”

Kenma nodded. He took a parchment of paper and began writing out a simple kanji: 食, meaning “eat” or “food”. The General took to writing it out in relative silence until his stomach grumbled and Kenma caught the faintest amount of pink from his cheeks. Not even his muzzle could hide it. 

“Let’s call for a break” Kenma mumbled, “and a plate of fruit, perhaps.” 

Kuroo-san waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, dear Minister. Don’t bother with that. I’ll have myself something on the way to the Palace.” 

“I insist.” 

“Well, alright.” And when Kuroo-san said that, there was this strange glint in his eyes.

A servant bought a plate of sliced apples minutes later. At the bunny-like cut, Kuroo-san snorted and pushed the plate towards Kenma, who shook his head. 

“You first,” Kuroo-san said, nodding. Kenma was certain he was smiling. 

“It’s fine, really.” 

“I can hardly believe that, when my dear Minister’s been so tense the past few days. You even wear your mask to lessons now!” 

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.” 

“Well, if you’re not as tense as you say you are, surely you can manage an apple, correct?” 

Since it appeared Kuroo-san wouldn’t take no for an answer, Kenma snorted, picked up one of the bamboo skewers provided and ate the smallest slice. It was cool and sweet. Kenma had always liked apples, and this jostled his appetite just a bit. 

Satisfied, Kuroo-san excused himself, removing his muzzle and setting it aside. Despite all the time he spent with that thing on, Kenma couldn’t forget that slanted smile of his. The general took a skewer of his own and with it took two apple slices stacked on top of each other. This he ate in one bite, crunching loudly and humming in appreciation. It was by no means polite, but Kenma didn’t care and took another apple slice of his own, nibbling slowly. The sweetness could almost wash away the bitterness remaining from the previous night in his mouth, and his shoulders drooped slightly. _Had they always been this tense?_

Kenma picked up Kuroo-san’s paper and inspected it as he munched. His calligraphy had been improving steadily and now it had some semblance of personality to it: wide and heavy strokes like he was in a hurry, but no longer illegible. 

“I have to say you’re doing well with your brush strokes,” Kenma said. 

“Why, you’ve noticed, dear Minister!” The general grinned, the raise in his lips exposing a canine. “I’m only doing so well because I’ve got such an excellent tutor.” 

Then Kuroo-san began to speak about how he had taught the men back at camp a number of things. At night, during drills, whenever he could or whenever somebody would ask him, he’d take a stick and etch on the ground their names. Teaching helped him memorize the characters, and though it wasn’t in kanji, they were overjoyed at having seen their own names written out, “Kai” and “Yakkun” especially. These two were Kuroo-san’s closest comrades and, from his brief descriptions, were polar opposites, with Kai often acting as mediator whenever Kuroo-san and Yakkun (“Yaku”, Kenma suspected) butt heads with plans. Practicing writing his own name was giving him less time to pick a fight with Kuroo-san, however.

“All thanks to you, my dear Minister.”

Kenma was suddenly grateful for the mask, though he still averted his gaze. His stomach had fluttered and he was certain it wasn’t hunger. Kuroo-san had fortunately returned to finishing off the rest of the apples, and Kenma was safe to look away from him as much as he liked.

“Say… Why do you call me ‘dear Minister’?” Kenma found himself asking. Even he blinked in surprise at his own spontaneity. In truth, he would have been alright being called “Minister” or even “Kozume-san”. 

When Kuroo-san answered, the world stilled.

“That’s how the old man referred to you.” 

Kenma swallowed hard. His heart began to stir once more, and the fruity taste of apples turned sour in his mouth. He was left with one question in mind: how far back was all of this premeditated? 

Without meaning to, he leaned over the table and touched Kuroo-san on the arm. “Please, tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit difficult to write... I hope I managed to write the more disturbing elements of the work without making light of it, or worse---fetishizing it. I know Okumura-sama is the biggest asshole in the story right now, but I swear he'll get what's coming to him in time >:) With that being said, thank you for reading it, regardless if you skipped the scenes or not! I hope people are still enjoying this story, even if I'm stuffing it full with so much lore and worldbuilding. At least some kuroken stuff's starting to happen, right? :) 
> 
> I know this update was a little late, but life happened and I couldn't update it soon enough. It's also a shame, but I think I'm taking another break in December because I've decided to go and write some oneshots (kuroken, of course) and I'm looking forward to sharing those with you guys too! 
> 
> Once again, thanks to my beta readers: [Nation](https://twitter.com/itsNationJoy), [Christy](https://twitter.com/kodzukuro), and [Neens](https://twitter.com/neenswrites)! Check out their fics too!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back at it again with another (probably) super-long kuroken fanfic, this time with ushioi in the mix! If you've read my previous work For Convenience' Sake, you might recall I'm really fond of worldbuilding. This time I've decided to go off with the worldbuilding, and I just want to point out that although I am making heavy use of Japanese culture (as well as a mixture of other cultures), I will do my best to portray it in a respectful manner. Same thing goes for the sensitive topics and themes. I will mention in the opening notes if they will be present in the chapter. If there's nothing, then you can rest assured the chapter's safe. I'll also be updating the tags as I go along!
> 
> With that out of the way, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I've had this idea for a couple months now, and it was stuck in my head as I was writing my other fics. Now that I finished those, I can know show you guys! :D There will be some POV switches in the future, so get ready for that. Strap yourselves in for a plot-heavy fic with a dash of kuroken slow burn! I also want to thank my beta readers: [Neens](https://twitter.com/neenswrites), [Nation](https://twitter.com/itsNationJoy), and Christy! You guys were amazing help! <3


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